


Choices

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cersei sucks, Drama & Romance, F/M, LONG Long Shot, Long Shot, Maybe OOC-ish in terms of supporting characters, Not always canon compliant, Not everything figured out yet, Please Proceed With Caution, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy, Warning: May cause heart aches - or so I was told, drama - lots of drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 193,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in Harrenhal, Jaime and Brienne make choices, which eventually leave Brienne pregant with Jaime's child as they are on their voyage back to King's Landing. </p><p>How will the two deal with the prospect of a child? </p><p>What will happen to them? </p><p>Note: This story is still in the early stages of development, so you are warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moss

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second Jaime/Brienne fanfiction I post here. As already mentioned, I did not figure everything out yet, but I decided to upload it in the hope to get some input from you, my dearest readers, if this is an idea worth digging into, and maybe you can show me some rabbit holes to my story that I didn't even think about just yet. 
> 
> This story is written by me alone, a non-native and non-archaic-English-speaker. Hence, all mistakes are mine, though I hope you can see past them in your overly great generosity for the sake of the plot - and Jaime and Brienne. They deserve fiction written for them. 
> 
> I didn't read the books yet, so I only rely on my knowledge from the TV series as well as internet research for the matter. If it is inaccurate - blame the sources. I also gave the AU warning for that reason. 
> 
> I hope that I will keep close to character with Brienne and Jaime, but of course I can't say so in advance, so I hope it won't be too OOC-ish. 
> 
> I suppose, at least I don't think so now, that I will put great focus on global (i.e. Westeros) political affairs. I may have to reach back to family orders and rules, but I am not too much into these things, so I hope you forgive me if it's a bit... squishy here and there, but my focus is really on how Brienne and Jaime would react to the prospect of a child at this stage of their companionship - and perhaps blooming relationship. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you'll enjoy it ;)
> 
> Oh yes, the disclaimer. I hereby disclaim everything. I own nothing, like Jon Snow knows nothing.

“Wench, where are you?” Jaime curses, his mouth flexing in annoyance, though the annoyance, for a huge part, is only covering his feelings of worry he has for Brienne the Beauty lately.

She withdrew a lot more than she does anyways – and that surely means something.

And here he thought he made her put down her armour for once.

But no, Brienne of Tarth is no easy woman.

In some way, she is so basic that she is already complicated again, while his sister, though far away in his memory now, lately appeared so complicated while in fact she is, deep down, rather basic.

Jaime is not sure what option he likes better, or if he even likes one better than the other.

Yes, he laid with the giantess, had torn off the suit of armour protecting her from tender touches, had stroked her skin, stole her lips, claimed them for a night on cold and dewy moss, the moonlight the only clothing they wore. And for the first time in a felt eternity, he felt warmth coming back to him, flooding back into his burned-out body.

It felt different from any woman he’s ever had in his arms… which are Cersei’s alone, obviously. With her, it was hot, boiling, sizzling. To give it a name, it was passion, burning lust, mixed with deeply rooted feelings of love, of being able to love someone who had to love him no matter what, for it is their blood that binds love to them both.

With Brienne… it was not the same. He felt warm, comfortably warm, something that came to him as a surprise when staring at her cold sapphire eyes and her otherwise oftentimes cold nature and words. But in his arms, she was the kind of warmth he wanted to creep into and never get back out of. But it didn’t burn his flesh. It wasn’t hot, just warm.

Indeed, it was… tender, soft – which truly came to him as a surprise, bearing in mind that he chose a wench giantess as his nightly companion on that full moon.

Her skin suddenly felt like silk, her features soft and… _caring_.

Perhaps that is the odd thing, what made it different: That she looked at him the whole time.

That she was careful not to put weight on his stump of an arm.

That it didn’t bother her after all that he is a cripple now.

That she saw only him.

With Cersei, both always had to have their eyes everywhere not to be caught – not that this always worked out, obviously, or else he wouldn’t be in the situation he is in right now. With Brienne, by contrast, he found her eyes only looking at his own, their gazes fading into each other.

Yet, ever since it happened, the woman makes herself rare, wanders off most of the time, seemingly trying to find a cave to hide in. Though, to his surprise, it was not right away.

After the night, of course she had the horse saddled by the first beam of the next day, to ride through the seas leading to Tarth to cover her shame, as it seemed, but that was all he expected from her. After all, the Maiden of Tarth considered herself no Lady at all up to that point, when realization dawned on her that a part of her always was and will always be a lady. Jaime had stopped her and made her sit with him. Of course he had teased her more than a bit. In fact, he teased her a lot, to the point that she was crimson on both her cheeks, in anger and in embarrassment.

So he had it coming when she knocked him against the chest hard enough to make him fall off the stone he sat on, right into a puddle of mud. That was when it was her turn to laugh, and for him to turn crimson. Though he admits he deserved that payback.

They talked more seriously thereafter, and she told him that she simply never thought that she’d do it, was shocked at herself at some point, and that to a man she sees as a friend, and definitely “did not wed before the bed,” as Jaime had offered with a crooked grin. However, he understood. He knew that she was a virgin when they slept on the moss entangled. After all, he had kissed the small tear away, had held her tight and moved slowly. However, he only understood after her admission the next day that she is a different kind of woman, a new species, almost. She is not the kind of woman out for a good fuck. She is not the kind of woman out to find her prince in rags to marry her and carry her to a better life into a castle and put her in silk and rubies, or sapphires, for the matter. She is no such woman at all.

Brienne is a knight, a Lady Knight, though he doesn’t say that to her. She’d surely take offense in it, but to Jaime, it’s actually quite fitting. She is a knight, like any other sword roaming around, but she is also a lady, tender in touch, out for a bit of comfort, with hope in her eyes.

And after that conversation, things were just as they were before. They bantered and bickered, or well, Jaime bantered and bickered and Brienne knocked sense into him when he went too far, or came with such a calmly spoken comeback that it left him speechless as she brushed past him to walk ahead with a small grin of victory on her lips.

And to him, it was quite refreshing to see that the woman wasn’t all over him now that he officially made her a woman. In fact, their relationship was as platonic as it was before it happened… and the other time it happened thereafter… and that one time… oh well. They are two grown up people, and they have needs, for God’s sake.

Not that he would ever say so in front of Cersei. He’d never see the end of it. Well, the good thing is that he is most certainly sure that Brienne is the last one to pride herself with having laid with him of all people. For all it’s worth, he thinks she would claim to be a virgin till last if someone dared ask her.

But that peace was interrupted as the wench decided to play this game he never quite understood – and at some point thinks she didn’t understand either. Brienne makes sure to walk either five feet in front or five feet behind, checks the horses thrice as much, and excuses herself to the woods to do the deeds of a human being more often in a day than she used to in a week. And he should know. He spent months trotting next to her, or behind her, when she still had a leash on him.

Now, Jaime is not the type of a man who gives a lot on these things. Brienne is a curious case. And while he prides himself having earned her trust, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed that, in the end, she seems to be one of the silly maidens formerly roaming around him when back in King’s Landing, like moths attracted to even the little bit of light he emitted back then. How they always had the flirt in their small eyes, flashed smiles, but only from the group, surreptitiously, just to duck back under, in the hope that it would catch his eye and his heart along with it. Seemingly, Brienne of Tarth, against better judgment, also has a fable to make him chase her.

 _Of course_ , Jaime Lannister would never fall for such basic tricks.

 _Never_.

He is a Lannister and Lannisters don’t play such foolish games…

Well, his body, however, seemingly didn’t get that message yet.

Because his body is chasing the woman through the woods no matter what his name may command.

“Fine, I take the wench back!” he hollers as he wades further through the shrubbery to where he can detect familiar sounds coming from. “Now come out already. If I made you mad, have at least the guts to say it right to my face, woman.”

He stops dead in his track when he catches sight of Brienne. She leans against a tree with one hand, the other holding… a big stone. Jaime frowns, not sure what she’s intending to do, but that is when the blonde woman raises the stone – and aims at herself, right in the guts.

Jaime jumps and leaps over to her, “Stop! By the Gods, woman! What devil’s gotten into you?!”

Brienne looks at Jaime, who is now already holding her arm with his good hand, breathing hard.

“Woman, have you lost your wits? What do you think are you doing?” he growls.

Only now he realizes the quiver in her very flesh, the tremor in her soul.

“Wench,” he grimaces.

“Just let me,” she says, gritting her teeth. She reminds him so much of the bear he saved her from back in Harrenhal.

Though perhaps she is a little more threatening.

“Let you do what?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Go away,” Brienne snarls.

“Be a good girl and drop the stone, then we can negotiate about me leaving,” Jaime argues, flashing his usual smirk, though it comes off as a mask once more.

“Stop it,” she hisses.

“Brienne,” he says, now in a softer voice. It’s odd how names hold so much power. When she started calling him Jaime instead of Kingslayer or Ser, it made his heart jump for a moment, to be recognized for the person he is, not the things he did, or the titles he got thanks to his lineage. At the same time, her name on his lips bears a similar kind of magic. She is used to him teasing her by calling her wench among other things, but when he says her name in a soft voice, be sure that she will stop for a moment every time.

Gladly, she finally lowers her arm, though she is still trembling and averting her sapphire eyes.

“What is it with you?” he demands, but of course the Lady of Tarth does not say a single thing. “Look, if you are angry over the fact that you and I… did what we did… a few times, then be wise enough not to take it out on yourself. That’s not a smart thing to do, though I hope you won’t throw the stone at me instead.”

She lets out a small hiss, averting her gaze further.

“Look at me,” he says in a soft voice.

“No,” she growls, though her voice is no louder than a whisper.

“Brienne, please,” Jaime tries again. And that is when he sees, sees the sapphires glistening – and the familiarity of that gaze.

He is suddenly back in King’s Landing, when Cersei and he were still so deeply in love that it was for him the one reason to live and hold on, despite the pain it caused him.

How she came to his chambers, her composure leaving her the very second she closed the door.

When she told him that…

“Is it… are you…?” he stammers.

“I didn’t bleed,” she says through pursed lips, not daring to look the man in the eye.

The same eyes, the same fright, Jaime has to realize.

Though Cersei, not for a single second, considered smashing a rock against her womb until the baby would be mush. Instead, her mind started working again and she made plans to lay with her husband more frequently not to pull attention to the dates anymore.

Yet, Brienne is not Cersei.

Brienne is Brienne.

And Brienne is so complicatedly basic that it hurts Jaime’s mind and soul.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he breathes, his voice mute, too small to produce an echo reaching through the woods.

“It’s none of your business, Kingslayer,” she says through pursed lips. Jaime looks at her with a grimace, an angry grimace this time, “Not my… not my business? Are you out of your mind, wench? If you got a child in your womb, then it’s mine, is it not?”

She lets out another hiss.

“You laid with no other man, so it must be mine,” Jaime says.

“How would you know that I didn’t bed someone else? Back in that tavern, huh?” she snorts.

“I know you, Brienne of Tarth, and I’ve seen the toothless beggars and drunkards in there. You wouldn’t take a man that meagre to bed you. So? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaime goes on, unimpressed.

That is the good and the bad thing about her: She cannot lie.

She is too honest for that.

“Do you sincerely believe that I want a child? My whole life, I wanted to escape this lifestyle. My whole life, I fought it with both my fists and both my feet. But then I… I… suddenly I find myself in the same constraints, in the same shackles I thought I escaped from. And just now, you keep me from my escape route,” Brienne explains, her head hanging low.

“That stone,” Jaime grimaces.

“I do not seek to have a child. I do not seek to be a Lady, because I am not. So yes, that stone is perhaps my one escape,” she agrees solemnly.

“You won’t hurt yourself,” Jaime declares with determination in his voice.

“That is not up to you to say,” she argues.

“If you bear one, it is my child, so yes, I have a say, accept it, wench,” Jaime retorts, though the ‘wench’ comes out not really as an insult.

It didn’t in such a long time.

“If you think you have any say over my body, then…,” she grows, but he interrupts her, “Do you really take me for that kind of a man, _Brienne_? Is that what you consider me after all we have been through?”

She looks down. No, much to her own surprise, her perception of Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer had to be revised a lot over the course of their journey. He might be many things, but not a man of this nature.

“Look, I do not mean to tell you that you have to do this or that. What I say ‘no’ to, however, is that you hurt yourself or the child without giving it proper consideration,” he tries in a softer tone this time.

That he would ever have to use a soft tone on her… he never would have thought so when he first met her.

“I am a warrior, no lady… no mother,” she argues.

“In fact you might be one now,” Jaime replies.

“To a child whose father may not even have offspring by the oath he made,” Brienne corrects him.

“Well, when it comes to me, I think I deceived most social expectations anyways,” Jaime shrugs with a crooked smile.

Kingslayer.

Traitor.

Blood and dirt smeared.

Down a hand.

Those are surely not the social expectations his name and title force upon him.

“You made an oath,” Brienne argues sternly.

“We’ve had that talk about oaths, don’t you remember?” Jaime rolls his eyes.

While he is amazed at the woman’s overly strong – the strongest he knows – sense of honour, he is honestly annoyed at times just how far she would go for an oath.

For a few words said.

“Oh, you mean back in the bathtub where you fainted like a tart?” she retorts.

“Ah, there we go, the Brienne I know finally comes back to the surface,” Jaime grins.

“Don’t you dare mock me,” she cries out.

“I’m not mocking you, I assure you,” he tells her in all earnest.

“… You’d want that child, is that it?” she frowns.

“I’m good with children,” he shrugs.

“I am not,” Brienne shakes her head.

“That doesn’t come as a surprise to me,” Jamie can’t help but say. She looks at him grimly, so he corrects himself quickly, “I just mean to say that this is not the end of the world, Brienne. We can find… a solution.”

“My solution lies right there in the moss,” Brienne says, pointing to the stone once more.

“No, that is most definitely not the solution. Now listen, I care about you and I care about your wellbeing. And the same is true for that child. And anyway, we cannot know for certain just yet if there even is one. I mean, I am none of the Maesters and neither are you. Or have you seen one? Qyburn? I reckon not,” Jaime argues.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I don’t trust that man.”

“Maybe it’s some other reason why you didn’t…,” Jaime tilts his head and she completes solemnly, “Bleed.”

“Yes,” he agrees, earning another grimace from her. “Then why don’t we leave… _that_ solution… until we have certainty?”

“Don’t treat me like some foolish child,” she warns him. Jaime holds up his good hand as a gesture of reassurance, “I assure you, I am not. I just… I don’t what you hurt. So please, let’s make sure before we do anything we might regret later.”

“We?” she cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You and I,” he shrugs.

“At some point, I consider sending you go to King’s Landing on your own,” she admits.

“Now, now, my wench, you have an oath to fulfil,” Jaime argues.

“Do not test me, Kingslayer,” she narrows her sapphire eyes at him, tiny slits, still shining with such an intensity that it could make people go mad.

“C’mon now, we should find another Maester, no? Or at least some healer who can tell man and horse apart,” Jaime argues, putting on the nicest of smiles. He pulls the woman away from the tree, back to the path.

The stone stays behind in the moss.


	2. Learning the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne go to a healer. 
> 
> They learn the truth. 
> 
> And now have to make their choice, whether they are ready or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for sticking around.
> 
> I'm still not sure where this will go. I hope you'll enjoy anyway ;)

Jaime finds himself pacing in a small room, full of clubber and dust. They stopped in a small town he long since forgot the name of. He knows that he gave the people escorting them as well as Qyburn some passable excuse he can’t come to recall either. The two then secretly used the private time to seek a healer. And the Gods were with him for once, since the healer turned out to be a woman, something that greatly reassured Brienne.

He was forced to wait outside, which is what he did.

Jaime still didn’t wrap his mind around the matter much.

He beds the woman most men think is one of their own sex – and she ends up pregnant after what? Three rounds in the moss? It certainly took longer with Cersei until it happened.

And by the Gods, Cersei.

And by the Gods, his family.

And by the Gods, the Kingsguard.

And by the Gods, Brienne.

And by the Gods, the child.

By the Gods – you are foul creatures.

Before he can go on cursing at the Gods more, the door opens and Brienne steps out. While still taller than him, she seems at least twelve inches smaller, as hunched as she walks.

“What did she say?” Jaime asks, licking his lips. She says nothing, however, just stares at the ground.

“Well, I guess that is an answer already,” he grimaces, running his good hand through his hair.

“Do I get my stone now?” she asks through pursed lips, sounding more like a child whose toy was taken away.

“No,” he tells her, sounding more like a father who doesn’t want to give his child the toy back.

“I already feared you’d say that,” Brienne snorts.

“Is that the part of the conversation where I should duck for cover and pray for life?” Jaime jokes, trying to somehow lighten up the mood a bit.

“For what? Impregnating me?” she grimaces.

“As a matter of fact?” he shrugs. He already tested the window. He knows how to jump out in one mighty leap to escape, just in case Brienne of Tarth decided to execute her revenge on him sooner than expected.

“If at all, it was my own foolishness,” she argues, much to his surprise. He really thought they would be wrestling by the time.

“ _Foolish_? Now, that is surely not good for the ego. I thought our nights were quite… enjoyable for both sides,” Jaime argues with a grin. But again, she doesn’t react the way he thinks she would. Her voice remains soft, the hands carefully folded behind her back, “I never should have… done it. I knew better before. I knew that it’d bring only bad. And now look at me: Barely have the maidenhead taken – and already with a spawn in the belly. The Gods must have a lot of fun at my expenses.”

“I must say, it surprises me that it happened… so early on,” Jaime grimaces. Once again – three times, that’s all.

“I… I never should have done it. And now… now it’s over for me,” she shakes her head.

What devil got into her to think that it was suddenly time to get over with it?

To do it?

To have herself claimed?

To claim herself as something she tried to doff for all her life? A woman?

Or rather, what made her think that she should lay with _him_ of all people?

She knows who Jaime is, and she knows whom he belongs to.

Brienne better should have taken some old man whose seed long since dried out. But no, she chooses the one Lannister who is, despite his current condition, healthy as an ox – and seemingly as fertile as one, too.

May the Gods be damned once more for making her a woman. Being born a man would have spared her a lot of trouble, and it would surely save her the trouble just now, which opens up deeper depths each time she dares to think about it.

She is no longer a virgin.

She is not married.

She is going to have a child from a man who may not have children.

She is going to have a child of Jamie Lannister.

She is going to have a Lannister child.

She is going to have to actually give birth to a child.

A Lannister child.

Of the one man who openly admitted where his heart lays, right next to his sister’s.

Not to mention that the Queen Regent will likely have her executed if she ever knew.

She is… _doomed_.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jaime grimaces. It honestly hurts his pride that a child of his means that the world will end, as it seems. His children were all healthy, for all it mattered, and fairly good-looking, too.

“Why? _Why_? Because now I can’t be a sword anymore, if I have it,” Brienne retorts.

Isn’t that plainly obvious?

“Of course you can be a sword,” Jaime makes a face.

“Which is why all knights and swords who serve the king may not have children, actually make an oath not to?” she huffs.

“It’s a rule applying to men of the Kingsguard, Brienne, it’s so that they keep their member in their pants, and believe me that much: Not all take it that seriously,” Jaime argues.

I broke that oath so many times already.

And crushed it when holding my sister in my arms.

“So what do you mean to say? That I am no knight because I am a woman?” she narrows her eyes at him, finally showing the reaction he feared and waited for.

“Oh please, we are long since past that point. But as hurtful as it is, Brienne: Renly is dead. That means you are no longer part of his Kingsguard. You are a sword, but not a knight of a Kingsguard. And yes, that means you are free of the shackles of celibacy,” Jaime tells her.

“How dare you…,” she means to say, but he interrupts her, “Brienne, I don’t mean to make you sad, but you have to see that this is a matter of fact. The oath you made to Renly no longer applies, his Kingsguard fell to pieces.”

“We make an oath for life,” she shakes her head.

“And his life is over,” he tells her in a softer voice this time. He knows how much it pained her to lose her King, the first man she ever bore feelings for, the first man other than her father to accept and respect her. 

“But not mine,” she grits her teeth.

“You cannot serve a dead King. You swore allegiance to Lady Catelyn, and I reckon she didn’t ask of you to stay a virgin, did she?” Jaime argues.

“No,” Brienne exhales.

“You are Lady Catelyn’s sword now, and that means… you are indeed free to do whatever you want when it comes to these matters, face it,” Jaime shrugs.

I might be doomed because of my oath, but you, if at all, will get some funny looks.

“But with a child, I may never join a Kingsguard, if it ever came to it... I could never possibly be a knight,” she goes on. Jaime grimaces. That is a valid point indeed.

“That… is not out yet. Rulers change. Rules change. And no one takes them as seriously as you do, believe me that much. We are all animals in the end,” he tells her as truthfully as he can.

“I always wanted to be treated as someone of equal standing. I fought for it for all my life. I wanted to be a knight like any other man. That means the rules apply to me, too. That means I never should have…,” she looks to the side shamefully.

“I can only say it again: people are much less strict about it than you imagine it to be. You tend to believe that all people are as virtuous and idealistic as you, but believe me, Brienne: You are one rare creature for being both these things,” Jaime says in all earnest now.

“But for women warriors it should apply especially,” she replies.

“And why would that be? Please, enlighten me, my wench,” Jaime snorts.

“Well, you tell me: How do you fight in battle with one arm wielding the sword, and the other holding the child?” she says, gesturing with both hands.

“You don’t take the child to the battlefield, you know?” Jaime makes a face.

“You know how I mean it,” she argues.

“I do indeed,” he exhales.

That is one of the reasons why they don’t want the Kingsguard to be married, aside from keeping their members in their pants – and to have means to keep certain people from inheriting lands.

You will love your own child more than a King.

You will want to protect it more than your King.

And if you are part of the Kingsguard, then your life is for the King and the King alone.

Not that Jaime ever managed that promise.

That is what made him a Kingslayer eventually, too.

Because he couldn’t make the choice for his King.

Because he loved his family too much.

Because he wanted to protect the half million people in King’s Landing more than he wanted to protect his King.

And your child is yours – you will always put it first.

So that is why a man of the Kingsguard should not have children.

He would always put someone other than the King first.

“So?” she grimaces.

“I know a lot of knights, even some from the Kingsguard, who have offspring,” Jaime argues.

One is standing right in front of you.

“Some bastard child they hide in the city never bearing their name,” she snorts, unimpressed.

Or you hide them in the palace, Jaime thinks to himself. Lions wearing a stag's skin. 

“Well, isn’t that an option?” he tries.

“Not for me,” she shakes her head, her voice resolute. It might be that Brienne doesn’t know what a mother’s feelings are yet, but she cannot imagine to give a small creature, who did no harm to the world, into a life of uncertainty only to keep up a name.

“Why?” Jaime asks.

“I am Brienne of Tarth,” she says.

“No, really?” he snorts, but she ignores him and goes on to explain, “I am the last heir of my Father Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall. While my Father let me live the life I sought, I have duty to the Island of Tarth and its people.”

“To produce small Briennes, really? I thought that after all this time, people finally understood that this wouldn’t ever be the case when it comes to the Maiden of Tarth,” he huffs.

“No, but if I have an heir who could continue the Tarth’s reign, then it is a crime to hide it. If I have a child, its place is in Tarth,” Brienne argues.

“Did your Father tell you that or did you jump to that conclusion yourself?” Jaime grimaces.

“My Father was always very generous to me, for letting me live the lifestyle I wanted to, but hiding a possible heir from him, after all he has done for me, is against anything I believe in,” Brienne tells him sternly.

“I can only repeat it: Your virtue and your sense of honour will be the death of you one day, Milady,” Jaime shakes his head with a sigh.

And mine.

“It is my own fault. For once, I made a basic choice, let nature decide. And that is how I was forced out of the martial life I seek to bring me back to the maternal life I always sought to escape from. Once it becomes known that I have a child, I will have to tend to it. I will have to protect it and raise it. And that means that this one choice will leave me in Tarth, waiting for the heir to rise. And by the time this duty is done, it will be too late for me to become member of a Kingsguard,” she shakes her head. “But… well, it was my choice. I have to live with its consequences.”

“Sometimes I did wonder, you know?” Jaime exhales thoughtfully.

“About what?” she tilts her head.

“Why you chose me of all men in the kingdom to lay with you,” he replies. Brienne just shrugs at him, “At some point I ask that myself, or no, I ask that myself _every_ single day.”

He shakes his head with a smile, “I am sincere, though. Why me?”

Why a Lannister?

Kingslayer?

Traitor?

Cripple?

“… You know that I do not trust men easily,” she says after a while, her voice softer now.

“And you should better, we always think with our cocks first. That’s one awful trait of mind,” Jaime snorts.

“… I didn’t want it to be some… _nobody_ who wouldn’t even survive a minute against me in battle… and who’d be gone before next morning came… I wanted it to be someone whom I trusted and who trusted me,” Brienne admits.

“My, my, Brienne of Tarth, there seems to be a bloody romantic hidden behind that armour of yours after all,” Jaime grins crookedly, trying to conceal how he is actually touched by these words.

“It’s not romantic. In fact, it’s rather pragmatic,” Brienne shakes her head.

“How is that pragmatic?” Jaime frowns.

“Now no one can claim it by force anymore,” Brienne shrugs.

“Oh, so I just served as the means to protect your maidenhead from some vile rapists, now that really hurts the ego,” Jaime huffs, though the sarcasm doesn’t cover up all of the emotions he tries to hide.

While he can’t speak from his own experience, he understands that Brienne wanted to make that decision herself. She lives in a more than dangerous world. The bear back in Harrenhal proved that all too clearly. There are people who do not hesitate to hurt a woman, who don't care for their names or their virtues. Locke’s men almost raped her, had he not intervened. So to seek protection from these dangers seems logical indeed. 

And in their society it seems as though such a decision, this fragile thing within a woman’s body, is not up to them, but the men after all, who “claim” it. By choosing the man she laid with, a man she was not promised to, Brienne actually claimed it herself in the end, or so Jaime understands it. Brienne made the decision – and no social conventions had a say in this. It was her choice, and no one else’s. She actually claimed herself in the end.

“What? Isn’t it the same for you men? That you just take someone once the member itches too badly?” she huffs.

“I must say that you have a point,” Jaime chuckles softly.

“And yet… none of this helps this situation. For whatever the reason we did what we did… this is the result now,” Brienne looks down at her stomach.

“In fact,” Jaime nods.

Does that really mean that he’ll have a fourth child now he can’t claim as his, can’t love as his, can’t love with someone else as theirs?

When he joined the Kingsguard, he thought he did so for good reasons, but he honestly starts to doubt it. Because it always stands in the way of love, be it that for his sister, or for his child.

“The healer… suggested something,” Brienne then says, biting her lower lip.

“What?” Jaime tilts his head.

“Well, she couldn’t recommend the use of stones,” she grimaces.

“I hoped so,” he huffs.

“But she said that there are herbs that would…,” Brienne purses her lips.

Jaime tries hard to keep his face stoic. He would love to scream, because he already feels that curious fire within him. That this child is his and that he wants to protect it more than his King, whoever it may be.

However, he tries his best to understand her perspective. Brienne is young, she is not married, she wants to be a knight. In fact, a child is the last thing Brienne would want to have in her life at this point. Maybe later, if she ever decided to settle down, but not until then.

So is it wrong of him that he wants to tell her that she mustn’t consider?

“Do you want that?” he asks.

“Would you be alright with that… if I wanted it?” Brienne replies sheepishly.

Jaime grimaces. Cersei never really asked him when it came to their children. She just told him that she’d have his children, that they were theirs, but in the same breath told him that he may never act as their father. That he was their uncle, no more. That they were Baratheons. And back then, he had agreed, because he loved her and because he thought that it was the best thing, but the situation is different because this is not Cersei Lannister. This is Brienne of Tarth. And Brienne of Tarth is not bound to the House of Lannister. She belongs to the Sapphire Isles, and their politics are very likely not as screwed-up as theirs, mingled with resent, revenge, and pure spite.

It wouldn’t be about hiding a bastard, born out of the forbidden love of brother and sister. It would be the lesser ‘crime’, of producing an offspring despite his oath, with an honourable woman of a proud name.

Brienne tries her best not to let her face betray her. She doesn’t know if she is ready for either option. Back in the woods, it was simply the sheer angst that overtook her when it was the second moon without blood. And that is why she just grabbed that stone and wanted to hit herself with it.

And it’s not like Jaime is a bad person. She holds him for an honourable man, at least he grew to be one again. She considers him her friend. So… his opinion should matter. It is his, too.

“I… I don’t know how to respond to that, to be honest,” he grimaces.

“So you’d want the child, even though… there are all those troubles… or… seek the next-best solution to erase it from the world?” she asks again.

 _Erase_ it. She grimaces. This is not some stain on the tunic, not some dent in the armour.

She knows she should feel more attachment, the way mothers seemingly do with their children. Not that she’d have any experience. Brienne never really knew her mother, she passed before she could remember her face or voice. It was her father who sang to her the old songs and walked with her, played with her. She doesn’t know what a mother’s love feels like, so can she love a child as a mother when she doesn’t know what that even is?

Jaime contemplates. He thinks back to when the former Maester of the Citadel asked him about how many people he killed.

Will he add another to this list if he gives his consent?

Or will he do so by not giving his consent, dooming his friend to a life she cannot take?

“Would it pose danger to you to take that stuff?” he asks mutely.

“She said it’s not without risk, but that she’s had… ‘good results’, which is to say that most women took it without their lives being claimed along with it,” she replies. Jaime bites the inside of his cheek. He definitely doesn’t like the sound of that.

He is protective of his wench no matter what. And to have her poison herself, by any chance, turns his intestines just the wrong way.

He doesn’t believe his words until they fly out of his mouth, however, “Whatever you will do, I will support you. If you do not wish to have this child, or if you want it after all… I will bear the responsibility with you. I will not force you into either decision.”

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“That's nothing you should thank me for,” he mutters. To his surprise, she grasps his hand once, “In fact I should. You may not understand, but to me it means a lot that you… leave me the choice. I don’t want you to hate me for either decision.”

“I would never,” he assures her.

He never could.

“How about we get back to the tavern so that we can… mull this over in all peace? This room makes me antsy for some reason,” Jaime says in a slightly lighter tone, though his face betrays his voice, revealing it as a mere farce.

“Sounds good to me,” she says, joining the farce with a soft smile.

Both know it is.

“Then let’s go,” he says.

The two leave the house and walk on.

Not speaking a single word.


	3. Vial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne must make one of the hardest choices in their lives so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and kudoing, you are too kind!!!!!!!!

They spent the remaining hours of the day and the initial hours of the night talking about… tactics in sword battle, to be honest. Neither one can tell how it happened, but at some point, either one started to discuss the matter, and the other joined effortlessly.

Perhaps it is really just that this is something they are familiar with, that this is something they know, while the revelations of this day belong to the realm of the unknown, of murky waters no one has travelled through yet.

It is Brienne who breaks the moment, however, as she produces a small vial out of her pocket, twisting it in her hand. Jaime swallows thickly. That must be the ominous potion to erase his child from earthly existence.

It seems so small, fragile almost, in that vial, Jaime can’t help but think to himself. It even looks beautiful in a way, the light cascading on the glass to give it a small shine, but then again… just because something is pretty doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. In fact, sometimes the most beautiful things on earth are the most lethal, people included.

He licks his lips, the security of the previous conversation completely drifting away from him.

“So you want to do it?” Jaime asks at last, trying to sound composed and ready, when in fact he is neither composed nor ready.

“Is it selfish to consider, do you think?” Brienne asks solemnly, her eyes focused only on the vial she twists between her long fingers.

“Selfish? No, why?” Jaime grimaces.

“Because this is a way for me to carry on the way I want to live my life,” Brienne explains. “Even at the cost of another being’s life.”

“It’d apply to me the same way. If you took it, I mean. Then I wouldn’t have to explain it to anyone. So if it is, it’s selfish of the both of us,” Jaime tells her, not wanting Brienne to blame herself alone for the matter. They are both responsible for this – and that means that whatever meanings they may attach to the act, be it “selfish”, “wrong”, “unforgivable”, a “sin”, they both will bear those marks of ink on their skin.

Jaime knows how hard it is to have meanings attached to you - by people other than yourself. For the rest of his life, he knows, people will look at him, and see "Kingslayer" written upon his forehead with invisible ink. And he knows how painful it is to be the only one to carry that name. So whatever is the outcome of this night, Jaime knows that they will both wear the letters on their skin. He owes her that much.

“Does that make it more right?” Brienne wonders.

“Maybe not more right, but… well, less of a burden to carry for each of us,” Jaime offers. He looks around nervously, trying to find a spot to focus on other than that vial that seems to be laughing at him, but finds none, so he focuses on Brienne’s face instead.

“May I ask you one thing?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Of course,” she nods.

“Did you ever consider having children? I am not even talking about settling down and marriage and all that. Just… _children_. Did you ever picture having one or two?” Jaime questions.

Brienne leans her head back, contemplating, “One time, I remember. I was fairly young back then. My father gave a banquet for the family. All were invited. He made me sit with the women because he hoped it’d rub off on me or so. As though the stuff a lady is made of is actually woven into the fabric of her dress and you just have to rub yourself against it hard enough and whoops, you are.”

Jaime chuckles softly, “I bet you weren’t pleased.”

“Not at all. I had any plans to brawl with my cousins all day, showing off my sword skills to beat them into the dust, and with it some of their teeth,” Brienne smiles softly at the memory.

“That sounds more like it,” Jaime grins.

“But father didn’t want me to, so I had to pretend to be interested in the new dress and the new shoes, and the women’s ongoing utterances of shock and the bragging about my looks, after I had chopped my formerly long hair off to this length,” she says, gesturing at her short her once.

“How long was it?” Jaime frowns, tilting his head.

“All the way up to the shoulders, and that was when it was braided. Unbraided, it reached all the way up to my arse,” Brienne replies.

“I can’t even picture that,” Jaime can’t help but let out a small laugh. Brienne with long hair – that seems so far away for some reason.

“Father thought it’d make me more womanly. My Septa had to keep scissors away from me upon his order, because he feared I’d use it as a weapon at an instant, and then do short work on my hair,” Brienne shrugs, amused.

“And how did you doff the braid, then?” Jaime asks.

“On my fourteenth namesday, he let me start to fight with real swords. He _did_ expect that I would brag about my hair being in the way. He did _not_ expect me to just take the sword and cut the thing off – and throw it at my master to distract him – and win the fight,” Brienne explains with a grin dancing over her lips.

Jaime can’t help but laugh at this. That story sounds so much like her. At some point he honestly wished he had known her as a child. Brienne surely would have been the kind of company he would have liked to have around the palace. He never had real friends outside the clan, which is why he turned to Cersei, too. Why they became so inseparable.

If he had had a friend like Brienne of Tarth as a child already, however, then he surely would have spent his days chasing her through the corridors of the palace, singing silly songs to make her blush, pull her by the hair… and she would have beaten him up all the time.

Maybe he’d be much a different man, if not a better one, had he known a person like Brienne of Tarth before.

But one will never know, right?

“That I used it as a whip thereafter was more than frowned upon,” Brienne adds.

Jaime screws his eyes shut, trying to picture her at fourteen years of age, dirt all over her face, probably missing some teeth, dressed in bulky men’s clothing, running around with sword in one hand, and the braided thatch of hair in the other, slapping all the boys calling her names with it.

“Which is why it was eventually taken from me. I was a little disappointed, I must admit… so anyways, back to the banquet. The women kept making comments, which didn’t help my mood at all. I was bored out of my mind especially because half of my aunts and cousins seemingly got pregnant at exactly the same time, and that even though they are scattered all over the country. One should think that they planned this, no matter the distance,” Brienne huffs.

“I realized that, too. There are those… peak times, really,” Jaime nods. He can still remember banquets over in Casterly Rock where he suddenly found himself surrounded by pregnant bellies and those women who shrieked when they announced their pregnancy.

Those were the moments he made sure to escape the fastest he could.

“I was utmost shocked when one of my aunts, whom I really like, also turned out pregnant. I liked her because she had refused to take just any man. She insisted on finding the man she desired. And even then, only married him _way_ later. She, too, kept her hair rather short, though not as extremely as I did, and she never bragged about my looks the way the others did. It _shattered_ my world to pieces that she suddenly was one of them,” Brienne recalls.

“Poor little Brienne,” Jaime chuckles softly.

“I asked her about it, and that is when she said to me that she was simply happy. That was when her husband, a rich merchant from the coast, came up to her to kiss her, caressing her stomach. And she just adored him as she adored her… and they seemed like those people from the fairy tales and songs I knew since early childhood. I just stood there, not knowing what to make of that. That was the only time I remember when I asked myself if I didn’t want that, too, to have that content smile on my face the way she did, to be that much at ease, so carefree…,” Brienne says, glancing at the ceiling as she recalls her aunt’s face.

“What made you change your mind?” Jaime asks.

“My third betrothed, Ser Humfrey Wagstaff. After he told me that I would have to act like a woman once he wedded me, I decided that I was way too set on not being this to be in favour of that carefree expression on my lips,” Brienne shrugs.

“Ah, the one you beat to pulp, I remember that story,” Jaime grins.

While others may find it questionable of a young lady to duel her to-be-betrothed, Jaime honestly understands that she did it, not only because it fits her character, but because a man who threatens to punish a young girl if she does not behave as it is expected of her is someone who definitely deserved a taste of his own medicine in turn.

“Not _to pulp_. Just three broken bones – and many, many tears. He wept like a tart. I mean… we didn’t even use real weapons. I used a mace, a small mace you use for training,” Brienne snorts.

No, Humfrey Wagstaff was the ultimate proof to Brienne back then that this would never be the life she would seek. While she did understand that producing heirs is a necessary deed, Brienne did not want to accept that a man gets to treat her like that only because _what_? Because he is a man? Because he could make her a baby? Because the one argument she would accept, that he would be stronger than her, turned out to be more than simply wrong. And that is when Brienne decided for herself that she wouldn't want to live such a life, the least under such a man.

To the day she can hear his cries in her ears, which are oh so soothing to her.

“So that was the only time you considered it, I see,” Jaime nods.

“Yeah,” Brienne agrees, as realisation dawns on her that this sweet escape into past memories might have brought a smile to both their faces, but also lead them away from the present situation that demands a decision after all.

“Well, now is the second time, I suppose,” she adds. Brienne brings the vial up in front of her eyes, twisting it between her long fingers, making the reflection dance over her face as she holds it against the light.

“So?” Jaime asks, his shoulders tensing to the point that he is afraid his muscles will tear.

At some point he fears that he already knows the answer, that he knows for certain that the vial will travel to her lips, and that the child will travel away from him before he ever got to see its face.

“I always found poisons weak women’s weapons,” Brienne grimaces.

“It’s effective,” Jaime shrugs, feeling perspiration gathering on his forehead.

“A coward’s way out,” she grimaces.

“I still won’t let you go with the stone instead. That battle wouldn’t be fair either,” Jaime scolds her. While he uses a light tone, both know that he is sincere.

“If I have it, I will be a manless woman who is more of a man than a woman. At some point I suppose that is the best way to make sure no one seeks to marry me anymore. That, coupled with my looks, might serve a real good cause in the end,” Brienne snorts, halfway amused at the thought. One of her aunts used to say to her that there are three things to scare a man away from you, as a woman: Being ugly, being poor, or bringing a child into the marriage. In Brienne’s case, or so she reckons, she thus has pretty good chances that she finally got “her will” in the end. No man would want her now.

Jaime decides not to comment. He doesn’t want to push her, though it makes him sad that, to her, there doesn’t even seem to be the possibility anymore that someone would find her beautiful, that someone would love her against all odds.

“But… no more Kingsguard for the Maiden of Tarth… no more knightly deeds… and no more faint chances of a carefree expression…,” Brienne exhales, her chest heaving.

Jaime just sits next to her, not saying a thing. He fears he already knows what will happen next, which is why he mentally braces himself for it. He tries to make himself believe that it’s alright, that it must be so, that he didn’t manage with his former children, so why would the Gods make him the gift of another, right? He tells himself again and again that it would probably be more harmful than wonderful.

He tries, he really does.

It takes his mind at least a few seconds to register the sound of breaking glass. He turns his head slowly to see Brienne’s hand still latched forward after she threw the vial against the opposite wall, which now lies in shards on the floor.

That was actually the option he didn’t brace himself for.

“You…,” he brings out, the air knocked out of his lungs.

Brienne doesn’t meet his eyes. She just stares at the shards, “I can’t. I simply… can’t. Even if I don’t know what a mother’s love is, I know what a father’s is… and maybe that is enough for the child. If the Gods think that I am to have a child, then so I will.”

“May I say that I am glad about that?” Jaime asks in a small voice, forcing Brienne’s head to him, their eyes clashing, “You are?”

“Why, yes?” he grimaces.

“It’ll be hard to keep from your family and…,” Brienne argues.

Because she is by no means the only one affected by this, she knows. In fact, his family seem much more frightening than her own. Her Father would be glad for it, no matter who the father is, Brienne knows, but with the Lannisters… one can never know.

“I don’t want to worry about that now, is that alright?” Jaime lets out a shaky breath.

“Of course,” Brienne replies in a small voice – because she understands.

“Good,” he nods.

He had enough shock for a night.

Enough fear.

He doesn’t want to worry – he wants to be glad, no matter the circumstance. At least for tonight.

Jaime doesn’t shed a tear, though they dance along the rim of his eyes. What emotions are the cause? He doesn’t really know. He doesn’t care either.

He just knows that his chance of loving something more than the vow he made so long ago, and that was so hollowed out over the years, is suddenly within reach, after he feared that it was gone forever.

He extends his ring and little finger to brush over her hand, and much to his relief, she doesn’t flinch away, but wraps her little and ring finger around his the same way, not looking at him. The two stare at the opposite wall numbly.

“So… longbow or crossbow?” he asks after a long while, his voice coming out strained.

“Longbow, obviously, you can make it out of anything, and it requires more skill,” Brienne replies.

“But the force,” he argues.

“It takes ages to reload,” Brienne huffs.

They continue to discuss weapons and their advantages thereafter.

Their fingers still entangled.


	4. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne reach King's Landing. 
> 
> Jaime has to realize that his missing hand is much more of an issue than he hoped it would be. 
> 
> They receive some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouraging and insightful comments and the lovely kudos!
> 
> Small spoiler (don't like, don't read, or read later): I obviously changed and expanded on the events of their arrival - and brought in Tywin, plus that dinner scene. I just had to fill the gap somehow. At the same time, I debated with myself how I want to treat the Red Wedding issue. I must say that I was unsure, just judging by the original material, when and how Brienne and Jaime learn about the Red Wedding - and how they react to it. Maybe I missed that scene, I don't know for sure. If so, I gave the AU warning before ;) In any case, I wanted to elaborate on that a bit. 
> 
> I hope you'll like the chapter anyway ;)

“I don’t think I should come with you to King’s Landing,” Brienne grimaces as she sees the walls of King’s Landing drawing closer. She doesn’t know why it hits her only just now, but as she glances at the city ahead of her, she feels like she is going to be sick soon enough to bring up her breakfast in the first man’s face past the gate.

“Why? After all the trouble we’ve been through, we both earned ourselves the luxuries of this place for at least a while,” Jaime argues.

“No, and you know _exactly_ why,” she argues sternly. Jaime stops, turns to her, drawing closer.

“You don’t show yet. And as tall as you are, you will likely show very late anyways, if at all,” Jaime replies, trying to sound reassuring. "So we don't have to fear that they will see it right away."

Brienne let him know that until decided otherwise, her pregnancy is only between the two. In a world where Kings are killed by shadows wearing faces, one cannot be careful enough. Not to mention that Brienne is by no means sure about a place that already cost so many people, good people like Eddard Stark, their heads.

“Still,” she insists.

“Do you expect me to leave you here in the mud, with a child in you?” he argues with a snort.

“I can surely fetch a ship back to Tarth,” she blurts out saying. He turns to her, a bit surprised, and a bit disappointed. Because yes, she might sail back home – and there is nothing much that Jaime could do about it.

And the child he dared to claim as his might be taken away from him, too.

“There is no need to rush. And the Lannisters are indebted to you, because you bring me back to King’s Landing. That means that they’ll give you one of the finest ships to travel back, if it comes to it,” he argues.

“ _If_?” she makes a face.

“The child’s mine, too,” he shrugs, though he is actually very serious.

“In fact,” she agrees. Brienne knows she cannot just take a ship back home to escape the situation – because it is his as well. Between the two, there is no way to deny that.

“The journey was tiresome. And It’s not the best season to sail Tarth’s way,” Jaime goes on.

“How would _you_ know? How often have you travelled to Tarth? Hm?” she grins, slightly amused.

“What if the ship sinks? That happens all the time,” he argues with fake exasperation.

“One could be under the impression that you worry about me,” she chuckles softly.

“Then finally you understand something, you dull wench. Just keep in mind what you promised your dear Lady Catelyn,” he grunts.

“You don’t have to remind me of my oaths,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“You are to bring me to King’s Landing, not just its borders,” he says in a dramatic voice. “I might get lost in the city – and then I would never make it to the Red Keep. Imagine that!”

She lets out a small hiss. Brienne hates it when he twists words around the way he needs them.

“So now, c’mon,” he urges her.

Brienne shakes her head with the smallest of smiles, but follows anyway.

* * *

 

They make their way up to the Red Keep, though Jaime is put off by the comments he gets from residents not recognizing his face, telling him that he is a “country boy”. At some point, he doesn’t know what he expected. That they would recognize him at an instant and throw a feast? Not really, but still, he hoped that _someone_ would recognize him after all.

But once at the doors of Red Keep _does_ someone recognize him, if only by the sound of his voice. Jaime comes to stand in front of two bulky knights he can vaguely recall having seen while still Lord Commander, but then again… they all start to look the same at some point. Give them the same armour and the faces eventually fade away until only a white mass remains.

“I am Jamie Lannister. If you let me inside – that’d be most kind of you,” he says with confidence. The knights just stare at him.

“Ser Jaime,” one breathes, apparently recognizing him despite the rags he wears, the long hair and the beard, and despite the one piece he left in Harrenhal.

“The one and only. I wish to speak my Father, Lord Tywin, presently. Care to tell me where he is?” Jaime asks, finally finding confidence again. He knows how to make those men jump like fleas. He has dealt with them for many years – and forged them the same way.

“I think he is in his study in the Tower of the Hand, Ser,” the second one informs him.

“Tower of the Hand… huh, was to be expected that he'd take over the position fast, I suppose. So now,” he pushes past them angrily. Brienne means to follow, but the soldiers cross the lances in front of her, “And who are you, Ser?”

Jaime turns around. That they always have to put the dull ones by the gates…

“I am no Ser, I brought Ser Jaime to King’s Landing…,” Brienne says in a calm and confident voice, but the first one simply interrupts her in his booming voice, “Wait, you mean to say that you were Ser Jaime’s escort? As if!”

Brienne sets her jaw, the comment already on her lips, but that is when she hears someone stomping his feet.

“ _She_ is with me,” he hisses, within her arm’s reach only an instant later. He takes her by the hand to pull her forward. The men pull their lances back, seemingly still in shock. “This is Brienne of Tarth, my escort from being held hostage by Robb Stark all the way to here. The next time I catch you treating a highborn lady that way, I will have your mouths sewn shut. Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course, our forgiveness, Ser,” the two reply in a hurry, nodding at him apologetically.

“Not me, her,” Jaime curses, nodding at Brienne.

Really, once he gets a hand on the man who assigned them to guarding the gates, he will personally kick him in the arse. Those two are stupid enough to open the gates to Robb Stark in person, thinking that he is his sister because he said so.

“Milady, of course. Or deepest apologies,” the two bow to Brienne awkwardly.

“It is fine,” she says in an almost forgiving tone.

“Fine my arse,” he grunts, pulling her inside. Brienne chuckles to herself. To think that Jamie Lannister, even in that condition, in that very situation, thinks he has to come to her defence about such a matter is really funny to her.

Though she’d blame her current state being the main reason if anyone ever asked. She is now the woman bearing his child, and that seemingly means that whenever someone insults her, he also insults their child.

So that stands to reason.

“So? Where are we going?” she asks as they walk through the corridors.

“You heard them, the Tower of the Hand. I don’t like it, but my father, now Lord Hand, is the man’s face I must see first,” Jaime grimaces. Brienne notes the sudden tension in shoulders, but knows better than to call him upon it. She is too busy fighting her own goosebumps. While she is well familiar with palaces and royals, this particular place makes shivers run up and down her spine.

They soon reach the study. Jaime knocks on the door once, waits, then steps inside. Tywin sits at his massive desk, looming over papers. He doesn’t raise his head, “I told you that I didn’t want to be disturbed, now go before I…”

Jaime interrupts him before he can go on, “I think you’ll make time for me.”

“Jaime,” Tywin gapes, looking at his son in disbelief.

“Father,” Jaime nods curtly.

“It is a relief to see you back,” Tywin says, getting up from his chair.

Brienne, having taken a few well-measured steps back, observes the white-haired man with a hidden frown. She imagines this to be her father, after returning from a year of imprisonment – and that is most certainly not the reaction her father would have. He would be around her neck by now, kissing her on the forehead. There would be tears and relief over her safe return. But looking at this man, there are just cold hands folded in his back, eyes firmly set like stone.

While Brienne learned that Jaime Lannister is a good man behind all the overly high self-confidence and wit, she is not too sure if this applies to all of his clan. To tell the truth, Brienne starts to dislike that man – and that even though she has not spoken to him yet.

“It is a relief to be back, too,” Jaime nods curtly, knowing that with his father, he shouldn’t expect an outcry of joy over his return – because he could wait till Winter comes and still get nothing.

Tywin approaches him slowly – and his eyes are instantly on his missing part, making Jaime almost sick.

“Who did this to you?” Tywin asks with a small hiss.

“Scum,” Brienne blurts out saying. Jaime can’t help the small smile of adoration, but then turns to his father again, “What she means to say… a band of men without honour. The good men who brought me here are not to be held responsible, however. They should be rewarded for their trouble.”

“Shall they have it,” he waves his hand dismissively, his eyes now fixed on Brienne. “And you are, Milady?”

Brienne steps forward, bowing her head, “My apologies, Lord Hand. I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall. It is an honour to meet you.”

“Tarth… the Sapphire Isles if I am not mistaken. Though this is surely quite far away from King’s Landing. What brings you all the way to here - in the company of my son?” Tywin questions.

“Lady Catelyn Stark entrusted Ser Jaime into my care to escort him to here,” Brienne replies.

“I thought the House of Tarth swore allegiance to Renly Baratheon?” the older man grimaces. Jaime grimaces. Bringing up Renly Baratheon is never a good choice when in conversation with Brienne. Those wounds are still too fresh - and too deep.

“In fact, but King Renly was killed by his vicious brother Stannis, who, as far as I know, is also an archenemy of yours. Lady Catelyn became my new Lady,” Brienne tells him.

“That is curious. According to some rumours, if not most, you are one of the main suspects,” Tywin argues with a raised eyebrow.

“I did not murder my King, by my honour,” Brienne insists, trying to contain her anger the best she can. Her fists already clench painfully tight when she feels Jaime’s hand pressing against her forearm, “Father, couldn’t we delay this? We are both exhausted after the long journey.”

And she might jump you and bite off your nose if you don’t stop it, Jaime adds to himself.

“I must know if the woman so kind to bring you here is not some spy. After all, she just openly confessed to me that she took Catelyn Stark as her new Lady, mere minutes after her former King was dead,” Tywin argues.

“That is not true,” Brienne argues vehemently.

“Brienne, calm down,” Jaime whispers so silently that only she can hear. Brienne tries to control her breathing, tries to ease her jaws, but she wants to bite this man, she really does.

“Well?” Tywin looks at the two expectantly.

“I know that many people tend to believe that what happened to my dear King was my doing, but by the old Gods and the new, Lord Hand, I never would have murdered my King. I would have given my life for him, but much to my shame, I did not properly protect him. So yes, I have responsibility for his death, but it is that I failed to protect him, not that I raised my sword against him. I never would have, could have, even,” Brienne tells him in such honesty that it makes the hairs in Jaime’s neck stand up.

“And the Starks? Will you join their allies once you leave King’s Landing?” Tywin questions, unimpressed.

“I made an oath to Lady Catelyn alone. I have nothing to do with the Starks or the people belonging to them,” Brienne replies promptly, as though it was the most natural thing on earth.

“What?” Tywin frowns, so Jaime scaffolds, aware of the fact that not many understand that part of Brienne’s logic and ethos, “She is not very much concerned with politics, Father. She is a sword of Catelyn Stark, but she does not work for the Starks. And you can have my word for it: That is the truth.”

“So… your sole allegiance is with Catelyn Stark,” Tywin repeats. He has never heard about such a thing, let alone a female sword swearing allegiance to a Lady.

“Yes, Lord Hand. And she asked me to bring Ser Jaime here,” Brienne replies.

“So you mean to say that I owe you for the kind return?” Tywin tilts his head.

“No, Lord Hand. I just mean to say that my Lady Catelyn is not Robb Stark. He never would have allowed me to take Ser Jaime to King’s Landing,” Brienne shakes her head. “I choose the Lord or Lady I want to serve, and I chose Lady Catelyn, not her son. And no, I expect nothing in return, nothing at all.”

“For a woman, she doesn’t hold back,” Tywin puckers his lips, his eyes on Jaime now, who replies with a small grin, “She’s hardly a woman when it comes to these things.”

“Lord Hand, you fear that I am a spy or seek to hurt your family. That is not so, however. I am a sword and I live by the codex of a knight. You have my word for it,” Brienne insists.

“And mine,” Jaime adds quickly.

“… Very well,” Tywin says at last, slightly bowing to Brienne. “Apologies, Milady, but one must be careful. Trust can easily be broken.”

“And it is hard to build and maintain,” Brienne nods curtly.

“True. Well, my son is right, you two must be exhausted. You will be given a chamber and the maids shall prepare everything for you to get changed and cleaned,” Tywin declares, much to Jaime’s relief.

One hurdle taken.

“My deepest gratitude, Lord Hand, you are too kind,” Brienne replies.

“I hope to see you both at dinner to discuss the exact… events of that troublesome journey,” Tywin adds.

“Thank you, Lord Hand,” Brienne says, bowing to the head of the Lannister family once more. Jaime already wants to usher her out of the room, but that is when his father’s voice rings out once more, “Jaime? On a word?”

“… Of course, Father,” Jaime smiles at him.

“Just go. You have nothing to fear,” he whispers to her.

“I don’t fear anything,” is the reply he gets as she disappears, shutting the door behind her.

Brienne walks away, trying hard not to look as uncertain as she feels at this point, despite her little mumbled speech mere seconds ago. If only those bastards had left her with her armour. Gladly no dress anymore, but still just a tunic and a cape. The armour would have her protected. Now she feels exposed.

Meanwhile in Tywin’s study, the Lord Hand is still eyeing his son carefully, “Can we trust her?”

“Absolutely,” Jaime replies resolutely. “What reason would she have to do us any harm – and what means? She is one, alone here. And if you’re still not convinced… ask Joffrey’s new _wife_ , as I heard. She will sing the highest songs for her, I’m sure. Brienne served under her former husband to the best of her abilities.”

“Loras Tyrell might beg to differ,” Tywin argues.

“Loras Tyrell… the one who crosses too many swords under the sheets. Oh, I give _a lot_ on his opinion,” Jaime rolls his eyes.

“Don’t mock me,” Tywin warns him icily.

“Then don’t take Brienne of Tarth for a traitor. She is incapable of such things. She is so honest-to-heart that it hurts, believe me,” Jaime argues.

“Everyone is capable of betrayal,” Tywin shakes his head.

“Not that dame, trust me. She would still serve her dead King if she could,” Jaime argues.

He learned that you can trust no one in this world, that every ally, even your own family, can turn against you. However, Brienne is perhaps the one person in all of Westeros you can trust, fully trust. Betrayal is alien to her. While she may know the word and what it means, Brienne doesn’t know how to execute it, because her heart forbids her to. And while Jaime values her for the matter, perhaps even envies her in a way, it also makes her so very vulnerable – because the rest of the world is very well capable of these things.

“You give a lot on her,” Tywin grimaces.

“She’s a more honourable than any man I’ve met. At some point I suppose I should feel jealous, but then again… if one’s honour is so beyond repair… it doesn’t really matter anymore,” Jaime shrugs.

“So I don’t have to fear for…,” Tywin means to ask, but Jaime simply interrupts him, fed up with this conversation, “You don’t have to fear for anything to happen. Believe me.”

"Catelyn Stark's sworn sword... a woman...," Tywin shakes his head with a chuckle. "Even in death this woman surprises me."

" _Death_? What do you mean?" Jaime demands, the air suddenly leaving his lungs all at once.

"What? Didn't the news reach you?" Tywin shrugs. "There was a wedding... painted in red."

"You mean...," Jaime stammers.

"Let's just say that the Starks are no longer of much concern. Robb and Catelyn Stark are now shadows of the former days, crushed under the waves of Castamere," Tywin muses.

"You just murdered them?" Jaime asks, feeling dizzy.

"I didn't. And you shouldn't look so shocked. We won, that's what matters," Tywin shrugs with icy nonchalance.

"Of... course," Jaime lets out the words like smoke. "How did they die?"

"They took some arrows, for all I know, before they had their throats cut. Judging by the expression on your face, I reckon you don't want to know what happened to Robb Stark thereafter. While unnecessary, it seemingly helped the soldiers'... morale?" Tywin replies.

"And... the other Stark children? The girls?" Jaime asks.

"Sansa Stark is now married to Tyrion. And Arya Stark is dead for all we know. No one has seen her since her father's execution," Tywin says.

"Sansa is alive," Jaime repeats.

"Very alive indeed, and thus a wonderful way for us to secure our ties to the North," Tywin informs him. "Though you won't see much of her for tonight. Tyrion already informed me that she was ill this morning, which is why she won't attend dinner."

"I would ask you for a favour, if you allowed," Jaime asks, licking his dry lips.

"Of course, what is it?" Tywin replies.

"Let me tell Brienne about that. I don't want her to learn it from someone she doesn't know," Jaime says, his jaw set in a straight line as suddenly a very dark fear clutches at his very being.

What will such news do to her?

Would the shock... do any harm to the child?

"If that is what you want. I don't care," Tywin shrugs.

"Good," Jaime nods, not sure how to approach that topic, though. How does he tell Brienne any of this without upsetting her? Of that one thing he is certain, though, he has to have a good plan in mind.

“Well, then you should better get cleaned up," Tywin says, gesturing at his clothing. "Your sister will surely be relieved to see you back."

Jaime swallows.

Cersei.

“I… bet… and… where’s my dear brother?” Jaime asks slowly.

“Handling some business in the South of the city. He will be here for dinner for sure, though,” Tywin shrugs.

“Good, then I guess I should be on my way,” Jaime says, turning around and leaving the study, any coherent thought shaken from him like fresh snow.

He walks down the corridors, his feet walking on their own.

He doesn't know what part of himself gives the commands, his heart, his mind. He only knows that he suddenly finds himself in front of his sister's door.

Jaime is just a few feet from the door away he pictured so many times when he was bound up, iron around his neck.

He is just that close to the one thing he held dear for all his life, the one thing he could love, if only in secret.

The woman who made him hold on during his imprisonment.

Whose eyes are…

He stops.

Why were Cersei’s eyes suddenly blue in his vision?

Cersei’s eyes are his eyes. They are the same green.

Two pieces that belong together.

He opens the door to her room, finding her as beautiful as he remembers her to be, her hair shining in the setting sun, her features delicate, her movements fluid, like water, holding on to a shell.

She turns around.

The moment he has waited for, for so, so long.

“Cersei.”

She looks at him.

This is the moment.

This is…

But she doesn’t look at him.

Her eyes are set on the one thing he could not bring to King’s Landing.

His missing piece.

Jaime feels incredibly cold, his eyes on his missing hand now, too.

He didn’t feel that cold in ages.

And that even though he just comes from the cold into the warm.

* * *

After a bath in the steaming hot waters of King’s Landing, some shaving and hair cutting, dressing in the old clothes, heavy with leather, fresh in scent, Jaime looks more like himself.

Or rather, more like the Jaime he was before he was taken hostage.

Except for the missing hand.

That seemingly is much more of an issue to everyone else than he had hoped.

It’s enough of an issue for himself, as it tore part of himself away, but he thought that he’d get a bit more… _encouragement_ from those whom he loves and who should love him the same way.

But instead, he only sees people staring at the stump of his arm, something that didn’t happen for as long as he was just with his wench as a companion.

He tried to seek her out right after he made his way out of Cersei's room, but the maids, silly things, told him that the lady needed her privacy, which means that he didn't get to tell her yet.

Not that he has any good plan to tell her the truth that might shatter her - and the child along with it.

“Jaime,” he hears his name. He turns to catch sight of Brienne, whose eyes are only on his, and never on his stump, his missing piece.

“Ah, Brienne, it’s good to see a familiar face,” he grins as he steps over to her. She, too, looks much better after she was tended to. Fitting her character, she wears men’s clothing.

Not that Jaime expected anything else.

Though he must say that he likes her in the long tunic better than in the armour. It reveals more of herself. At the same time, he notes with a pang of guilt creeping up his spine that she wears a tunic covering her throat, covering the marks the bear left on her.

Because he only decided to act like an honourable man again once he was out of that hell already.

“A familiar face? You are surrounded by your family,” she makes a face as they start to walk.

To be honest, she didn’t recognize him at first. She was so used to see him in rags, with beard and unkempt hair that she had to check twice before she could be sure.

“But they look changed. A year has passed since I have last seen them. You are more familiar to me than they are, for the looks at least,” Jaime shrugs.

“Well, it won’t be long until you find the familiar features again,” she shrugs, hands folded behind her back.

“I surely hope so,” he agrees. “Well, at least the palace itself didn’t change much. I still know which path to take to get us to the dining room.”

“That is of course a relief,” she says with a small grin.

"But in fact... there is something I have to talk to you about," Jaime stops himself, the smile vanishing from his face. Brienne tilts her head at him, "What is the matter?"

"I...," Jaime means to say, but that is when there are footsteps trotting down the hallway.

“Jaime!” his name is called out once more. The two turn to find Tyrion approaching with fast strides – and finally, an expression of relief on someone’s face.

Finally someone who is happy about seeing him back alive.

“It’s good to see you again, little brother,” he grins as Tyrion comes to stand in front of him. Tyrion’s simple gesture of tugging at the hem of his shirt once is enough to show that there is at last one Lannister who is not only familiar to him, but also honest in his care for him.

“You look… different,” Tyrion makes a face. Typically for him, he tries to cover his emotion, but who would blame him? Jaime most certainly not.

“So do you,” the older brother nods.

Both have scars to show. Though the one running over Tyrion’s face now honestly surprises him. The last he knew, Tyrion was no one to get himself into such a trouble.

“I hope you had that properly treated,” Tyrion nods at Jaime’s arm, his voice revealing more concern than the dwarf probably would like to.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaime nods.

That is when Tyrion becomes aware of the woman standing a few feet behind them. The dwarf looks at her from head to toe.

“Uhm, my apologies. I think we didn’t have the honour yet… Milady. I am Tyrion Lannister, it’s a pleasure,” he says, bowing once. Much to his surprise, she bows, too, “Brienne of Tarth. A pleasure to meet you, too, Lord Tyrion.”

Jamie tries not hard not to laugh. He is used to her acting the way she does, but for others, it’s out of the world to see a woman bowing the way she does.

She tilts her head as the small man can’t tear his eyes away from her. Jaime already means to nudge him when Tyrion just blurts out saying, “You are… perhaps the tallest woman I have ever seen… my apologies, that was absolutely inappropriate.”

Jamie, for a moment, already fears he will have to hold the blonde woman from throwing his dwarfish brother out of the next best window for the comment, but much to his surprise, she looks at him with cocked eyebrow, hands still loosely folded behind her back.

“You are the smallest man I have ever seen, too, so I suppose we are even in that regard,” Brienne replies. Jaime laughs out loud once. At some point he hoped that the two would get along.

Tyrion smiles at her, “Truly a pleasure, Milady Brienne. I think my brother chose a good companion both witty and honourable.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion, you are too kind,” Brienne nods.

“Well, brother, at last you found someone who stands tall against you,” Tyrion shrugs. “But I think we should head to dinner. Or else Father will be about as upset as he was when we were still young children.”

“At some point I always feel like a child when close to him,” Jaime grimaces as they start to walk, his eyes on Brienne. He has to tell her, and every step they take towards that dining room means one step closer to the truth out of another person's mouth.

“And that is exactly what Tywin Lannister wants,” Tyrion shrugs. “Because that is what we are to him, stupid little children.”

Jaime contemplates, debates with himself, but before he can even breed out the smallest of plans, the doors leading to the dining room are pushed open. He catches her sleeve, pulling her close enough to him that every word they say is just between them, "I need to talk to you alone the first chance we get."

Brienne gives a small nod, noting the urgency in his voice. They sit down at the dinner table, eyes following them every step of the way. Brienne, out of routine, pulls the chair for Jaime back with one hand, taking her own with the other, earning her another round of glances. However, Brienne cares little about glances she gets for doing something that is proper.

What follows is a dinner leaving Jaime and Brienne tensed in their chairs, probably looking more like longbows than people, as Brienne is prodded with some uncomfortable questions about Renly Baratheon and Jaime makes any effort to lead away from any remark that might lead to the Starks, which proves to be much more difficult with the new King having way too much spiteful delight in his eyes. It is only thanks to his soon-to-be wife Margaery Tyrell with her soothing voice and words, and Tyrion's wine-induced humour that no one talks about the Starks, Sansa included.

In the haste, Jaime completely ignores the stares he gets for "failing at dinner" once more, mostly sticking to already cut side dishes for the present purpose.

At last, the platters for the desserts are removed - and Jaime finds some passable excuse that he and Brienne are tired and that he will bring her to her chamber. He just has to talk to her before she learns the truth by chance.

Brienne's eyes don't leave him for a second as he hurriedly leads her away from the dining room.

"Jaime, what is the matter?" she asks.

"Not here," is the only reply she gets. Eventually they reach her room. Jaime walks inside, pulling her along.

"Have a seat," he nods at the bed as he closes the door.

"Did you spill the pregnancy to your father or what's the matter?" she demands.

"At some point I wish it were just that," Jaime grimaces.

" _Just that_?" she huffs. "You wouldn't say that if it were true - because that would mean a dagger to your throat right now."

"You must promise me something," Jaime begins, walking over to her.

"Tell me what it is - and then I will make my decision," Brienne shrugs.

"No, you _must_ promise me - you must... _trust_ me," Jaime argues, licking his lips. Brienne looks at him with a grimace. She knows that Jaime uses that word not easily around her, because he knows the implications it has to her.

"Alright, I promise you," she says at last. Jaime sits down next to her on the bed, their legs touching slightly, "You must promise me not to get upset."

"What?" she makes a face, but then she feels his palm pressing against her stomach, "I know you will be upset in your heart, but... you must promise me not to be too upset, for _its_ sake."

Brienne's mouth falls open. Jaime knows her. He knows that nothing much shocks her, so if he fears that it will... it must be bad, very bad indeed.

"I... promise. What is it?" she says, for some reason finding tears on her lashes without knowing what he is about to say.

"It's about the Starks," Jaime begins, his voice soft though trembling. "Father told me that Robb Stark was killed during a wedding, and along with him..."

"No," Brienne breathes.

Please no.

"Lady Catelyn," he says, his mind begging to the Gods that she won't turn out to be so much more fragile than she appears after all. He prays that she is as strong as she always seems, that even such news won't shake her - and won't shake the child in turn.

"But... but Sansa is alright. She is here, in King's Landing. She would have attended the dinner, had she not been ill this morning," Jaime offers in a hurry, praying that this small flash of hope will make Brienne hold on to the promise he forced her into mere minutes ago.

"She is here," Brienne repeats, sounding out of breath. Jaime can feel every muscle of hers tensing up. Her stomach feels as hard as a stone against his fingertips. 

"Yes, she is here. Sansa is wedded to Tyrion, but she is in good health," Jaime assures her.

"And... and Arya? What about Arya?" Brienne questions, still not looking at him. 

"Nowhere to be found," Jaime shrugs. "But Sansa is. She is here."

"But Arya is not... and Lady Catelyn is not," Brienne brings out in a faint whisper. 

Yet another Lord she swore allegiance to, in the hope it would be until _her_ death and not _theirs_ , but once again... Death took her sense of honour and oath away from her, leaving her a sworn sword without someone to swear to. She wasn't there to protect her Lady, and so she was killed - at a wedding!

"Brienne?" Jaime asks, still worried about the rigidity of her body, fearing that this is only the prelude to an outburst, or worse.

"My Lady is dead. I reckon I have to accept that," she exhales, flashing a crookedly sad smile that tears at Jaime more than he can take. "Just as I seemingly have to accept that whoever I pledge to just drops dead. Maybe it's a curse, who knows? If this goes on, you might have to fear for your life to be taken by the same curse little time from now, too."

"You know that's not true," Jaime insists. "None of that was your fault, Brienne."

"Maybe not my fault, but in the end... my responsibility I didn't answer," she argues, looking defeated. "The worst is truly that I could not protect them, either one of them. I cared about them both, deeply, and still... they are gone now and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. Perhaps I can't protect anyone after all, or so it seems."

"You protected me," Jaime argues.

"And as we had to realise, not at all aswell as would have been demanded," she argues, both knowing that she is referring to his hand.

"Better than anyone I know would have done," Jaime replies silently.

"So I am... Lord and Lady-less once more," Brienne exhales shakily. "Once again, no one's sword, just a wench in an armour... or well, that would be if the bastards had not taken it from me."

She suddenly feels Jaime's hand pressing more firmly against her stomach. Brienne looks at him.

"Become that child's sworn sword," Jaime says with a simplicity and devotion that it leaves her breathless. "Because that is what I'll do."

Brienne looks at him, her eyes glistening like a million sapphires as the tears wash over her irises - and gives a nod, putting her hand on her stomach as well, her fingertips touching his, and both whisper together:

"I am yours. I will shield your back. I will give my life for yours. I swear it by the old Gods and the new."


	5. Terrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne talk, standing on a terrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and kudoing! You make soooooo happy^^
> 
> It was roughly inspired by the scene from the TV show, but I twisted it around to what I wanted it to be. I love fanfiction for that. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you'll like it ;)

Jaime and Brienne lean over a railing of one of the terraces around the palace, glancing down at Sansa. Jaime figured that it would work as a little reassurance to Brienne's still upset mind. While she stood true to her promise to keep calm, it didn't just pass her by that yet another oath was fractured in more than one way, that another Lady she wanted to serve was stolen from her, and with her, Brienne's so-believed only chance of living a knight-like life.

"You are free to talk to her, you know? You don't have to watch her from a distance," Jaime snorts with a small smile. At some point is seems as though Brienne is afraid of approaching Sansa, which looks really odd when it is about someone like Brienne. She is not afraid to fight a bear, she is not afraid to let men hold her feet as she hauls him out of the bear pit, but now it seems as though she bit off her tongue.

"Yes, I know," she rolls her eyes. "But I don't want to interrupt her."

She seems oddly peaceful.

"What do we do about her?" Brienne asks, fixed on the young woman whose face she didn't know until today, but whom she swore to protect with her life nevertheless. "What do we do to… get her out of here?"

"She is married to my brother now, I told you. That means her place is here from now on," Jaime argues.

"Among Lannisters," Brienne grunts.

"Hey," Jaime makes a face, but the woman only rolls her eyes at him, "You know how I mean it. Here are the people who killed her parents, her brother, who destroyed her family. Do you sincerely believe that this is a safe place for her?"

"She is alive and treated like a royal, so I think it could be…," Jaime means to say, but she interrupts him harshly, "Don't say it could be worse."

Jaime grimaces. He knows that Brienne is right. This is by no means a good life she lives, especially not for as long as Joffrey is anywhere near her. He heard a few stories, tales about the events that took place while he was Robb Stark's hostage, and later on travelled with Brienne, and they all sent shivers up and down his spine. 

To think that he brought this forth with his other half... at some point he hopes it's not the curse of his blood after all, and simply the curse of Cersei's and his sin. Because he doesn't want to curse Brienne like that, and even less the child.

"But whatever option we might choose now, it would be more dangerous for her than staying here," Jaime argues. "We can have an eye on her – here."

"For how long, though?" Brienne replies.

"What now?" Jaime grimaces.

"Do I have to say it out loud now? A few moons from now – and I can hardly stay in King's Landing anymore," Brienne hisses in a low voice.

"That is not said yet," Jaime argues, foolishly trying to keep those dark thoughts out of his mind. He dreads the mere possibility that Brienne may have to take off, with the child, leaving him with yet another child he may only love from a distance.

"What choice do we have? If they find out that it's yours, the consequences might be disastrous. And even if we somehow managed to keep it hidden… what a life would that be, you tell me? I, as a constant guest of King's Landing for the rest of my days, raising the cub alone, and you come by to see it as Uncle Jaime once you have the time? I would rather not force you through such a thing," Brienne argues.

" _Me_?" Jaime frowns. He honestly expected her to say that she wouldn't want to force the child or herself through such a life. He didn't expect Brienne to say that she wouldn't want such a life for him, the kind of life Cersei told him to live, the life he lived for an achingly long time.

"Well, isn't that like breaking our new oath in a way? I would rather not ask you to live such a life. If the cub is to be in this world, then it is yours just as it is mine. You will be its father, not its uncle, that is the truth," Brienne shrugs. He looks at her with an expression she cannot put.

Jaime bites the inside of his cheek. He honestly feared that she would consider it an option, just as afraid he was that he would have had to agree to it.

"We have to ask ourselves these questions. They don't just disappear from goodwill and good intentions," Brienne adds.

"Indeed," Jaime exhales.

"And the same is true for Sansa. Her problems don't disappear with good intentions either," Brienne nods at the red-haired girl. Jaime flashes a small smile. Even if Brienne is no woman of grand words, she still knows how to argue convincingly when it matters.

"Well, in any case we can't make a decision fast, you know that better than I do. We have to be careful," Jaime argues.

He needs a bit more time.

"Yes…," Brienne exhales.

Before it turned out that she was with child, Brienne enjoyed the security that she could go wherever she found it right, that she could hide, that she could move fast, but she knows that her body won't be agile much longer and that the life growing within her demands more protection she would usually administer to herself.

To her, it's still an uncomfortable and unfamiliar way of service. She is used to be willing to sacrifice her own life for her Lord or Lady, but now that she vowed to guard that small creature under her heart, she actually cannot do that anymore, not in that way. She cannot take a blow for the child, she cannot take a dagger or sword for it to prevent it from harm, because whatever harm is done to her at this moment will backfire on the cub the same way, if not more.

For the first time Brienne has to guard herself to protect the child, and she fears that this means by extension that she will have to let others protect her, even if it is this smugly grinning Lannister son.

"And by the way, I like how you call it 'cub'," Jaime chuckles softly. She nudges him in the side, biting her lower lip to hide the small blush creeping up her freckled, pale cheeks. "Well, we have to be careful about wording, no?"

"A lion cub," Jaime grins musingly. "I quite like that."

A cub, his cub, a small lion that will be as wild as its mother, as smug as his father, and likely as foolish as them both taken together. And for some reason, Jaime can't help but muse at that idea.

She lets out a sigh, also to escape the uncomfortable feeling she has from him smiling at her like that, "Well, I think I should be on my way. Lady Margaery wished to talk to me in private."

"Alright, I will see you later, then," Jaime agrees. Brienne nods, her eyes falling back on Sansa once more before she disappears.

Jaime leans over the railing watching the red-haired girl a little while longer. Sansa is his gateway back to honour, if he managed to stand true to the promise he gave Catelyn Stark, but now that he is here again, Jaime can feel the spiders crawling around, the whispers following him on every step of his way.

If either Brienne or he act too heatedly, too fast, it may cost them much more now. Especially because of the child. Jaime reckons that if she had not been pregnant, Brienne would have just taken Sansa to Tarth, leaving all of King's Landing wondering how that ever took place. However, it's different now, a lot more entangled.

And since last night, Jaime is no longer sure if the promise to Catelyn Stark is that important to him anymore. In fact, it all fades away at the prospect of a child he means to protect, the cub he wants to love as his.

And then again… it seems as though he is not welcome here anymore anyways. Cersei can't help but stare at his stump, his Father can't help but stare at his stump and brag about resigning from his duties, Joffrey finds it humouring for _some_ reason, and the rest of the world… also stares at his stump.

It's odd how people's eyes are fixed on something that isn't even there anymore.

So maybe Brienne is right. Maybe they should just disappear from King's Landing, take Sansa along, and then live by themselves.

Maybe he and the wench would eventually fall in love, too? Who knows? Have a small cottage and more cubs…

He is just being silly, Jaime scolds himself, shaking his head. There is no way in the Seven Hells that this is the scenario of his life. For that, he seems to be too unlucky – and too bound to his family. Not to mention that this is still Brienne of Tarth he is thinking about, and that woman isn't made of this kind of stuff.

Jaime walks away with a sigh, leaving the questions of honour and distant future behind for now.


	6. Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime gets his metal hand. 
> 
> Brienne doesn't like it. He doesn't like it. 
> 
> And then there is Cersei...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around and for commenting and kudoing! You are such a kind readership <3
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter ;)

A few days later, Jaime still glances at the gift Cersei made him: A hand. Well, none of flesh and bone, obviously, but heavy with metal and shame. He can't help but stare at it, twist it from right to left and right again. It makes noises every time he moves, like a bell you put around a cat's neck so you know whenever the animal decides to go.

"This thing is useless," he hears Brienne say, bringing him to the present situation of them being in Jaime's room. "She should have given you a hook or a small dagger."

Jaime chuckles – she really thinks like him at times, because that was what he told Cersei when she had Qyburn put it on him for the first time, or well, he only thought of the hook, though a small dagger seems even more tempting, and in any case better than this lump of metal with ornaments. _Ornaments_ …

"But why? It's fashionable," he argues sarcastically.

"But not functional. The only thing you can do with it is to slap someone across the cheek – or throw it at someone's head, though I can't recommend that, since it won't come back, I fear. And then the pricey gift would be gone," Brienne huffs.

Really, who comes up with such an idea? Why would you seek to replace a hand that used to hold a weapon with something you cannot use as a weapon at all? Sometimes, Brienne honestly fails to understand royals and their apparent need for aesthetic taste.

To her, it's no wonder that many Kings and Queens fall victim to murder – because they unlearned to use weapons, if they ever learned it in the first place, and see past shine and beauty for the sake of function and utility.

"I know," Jaime agrees, glancing at the metal hand again.

"Well, then have the blacksmith make a hook or whatever else that is more practical than this thing," Brienne shrugs.

"It's a present, wench," Jaime argues. "If you are familiar with that concept."

"I know what a present is, thank you. And I don't say that you should throw it away. I just say that it's apparently _your_ stump, and that since it is your stump, you should fashion it with whatever _you_ find best," Brienne replies. "And anyways, you are useless enough without that thing, just imagine how useless you are with it holding you back. This thing is so loud that sneaking up on anyone would be a mere joke."

"Very encouraging, wench," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"It was not supposed to encourage you," she huffs.

"My, my, you are surely going to be one of those women who will have the worst of mood swings, or well, you will just swing between anger and more anger," Jaime huffs.

"Nothing you aren't used to yet," Brienne huffs.

"True again," Jaime chuckles softly, suddenly smug smile spreading over his face. "Speaking of mood swings and small cubs… We have to find you a healer."

It has been a topic of debate between the two in a while, or well, Jaime wants to debate, and Brienne just says 'no'. However, at this point it also serves another purpose – it makes him forget about the shameful thing now supposed to replace his old hand, as though it was any better because of some ornaments of material.

"No," she retorts, her eyes narrow slits.

" _Yes_. We must be sure that the cub is alright," Jaime argues, keeping his voice light despite the fact that he really means it this time.

"You said yourself that no one can be trusted," Brienne argues. Not that this is anything he had to tell her. Brienne doesn't trust anyone beside her father, well, and Jaime.

"I could ask my brother…," Jaime means to suggest, but the woman quickly interrupts him, "Which means that your brother would know."

"He is a nice dwarf," Jaime assures her with a grin.

"Jaime, it's too dangerous to involve anyone just yet," Brienne insists.

"But if something is with you, we must have someone to go to," Jaime argues.

"You know, the first people on the planet didn't die out, and that even though they had no healers or Maesters," Brienne grumbles, to which Jaime throws his arms up, "That doesn't work on me. Enough women die in childbed to the day, along with the child, and yes, that oftentimes has to do that they lack a healer, and the comparison to the first people does not account as a proper argument since we are surrounded by good healers and able Maesters, which were absent back then. That's like fighting with bare hands when a sword lies right next to your feet."

Brienne blows out air through her nostrils. Jaime knows that she is likelier going to give in if he uses comparisons to fighting. Because that is one of the languages Brienne is fluent in, one of the languages she believes in, and thus fully understands.

"I trained to fight with bare hands against a man with sword numerous times," Brienne argues, puckering her lips. "With two hands free, you actually have a good chance of taking the sword from the enemy – if you move correctly."

"Or he chops your head off," Jaime huffs.

"Then you have to duck," she argues. Jaime leans back in his chair, "Gods! Woman, you well understood how I meant the argument, so could we now stop discussing battling tactics for real and just take the comparison for a comparison to the actual issue on hand?"

Brienne sucks her lower lip into her mouth once. Of course she knows that this is about the cub and that they have to make decisions about healers and the like, but… to be honest, Brienne doesn't know much about these things. She knows nothing much about it at all. She knows a lot about weapons and fight, she knows a whole lot. She knows all kinds of swords and their specific attributes. She knows how to send a battle axe flying in such a way to hit the target even from ten feet away. She knows how to keep a sword sharp. She knows how to disarm a man with sword with her bare hands, but she doesn't know about children or how to take care of them, let alone how to take care of a pregnant woman. At some point pregnant women were always something alien to her, something she always kept away from, already as a child. So yes, escaping into the realm of things she is familiar with is very tempting, and sometimes she gives in to that temptation, perhaps a little childishly so, but Brienne can't bear to feel insecure.

"I will find myself someone, but none here recommended in the palace. That would mean that too many people might potentially find out," Brienne argues at last.

"Oh yes, go to a horse doctor or whatever," Jaime growls.

"Do you have a better solution?" she snorts.

"Well, we could…," Jaime tilts his head to the side, contemplating, and Brienne cuts in, "What? Make it public? The moment we do, you are in a lot of danger. If the new King decides that it's proper to kill one of the Kingsguard for such sinful behaviour, then it would be over for you."

Jaime looks at her. It still amazes him that Brienne is concerned about him in that way.

"It's yours, too. You vowed, too. And if you think I'll do all the work alone when you decide that dying an honourable death by allowing them to execute you over the matter serves a good purpose, then you are mistaken," she warns him in a growling tone, but Jaime can notice the edge of worry in her voice. And that is when he understands – Brienne is afraid that she will be alone with the child. Sometimes he forgets that Brienne, however fierce and fearless she may appear, is also just a human creature who is afraid at times.

"That you always have to take things so seriously," he grumbles, trying to keep up a lighter mood.

"Jaime, I mean it," she insists, her voice a bit softer now.

"Well, so do I," he argues. "About the healer. "Because sure as the Seven Hells do I not want to bring the cub up on my own because you decide to bite the dust in childbed by refusing to see a healer, wench."

"I will find myself one, I will," she says in a softer voice. "But we will not ask anyone in the palace for advice."

"Fine," Jaime exhales.

"Fine," she grumbles.

"I think we are getting better at this," Jaime makes a face.

"Getting better at _what_?" she frowns.

"Having proper conversation without just yelling at each other," Jaime grins. Brienne gets up from her seat and makes her way to the door.

"What? You just leave me?!" Jaime cries out mockingly. Brienne opens the door to step outside, but in the same motion, hooks her foot under the leg of his chair to tilt it – making Jaime fall over.

"Damn you, wench!" he cries out as he scrambles on the ground.

"That wouldn't have happened to you if not for that useless heavy hand of metal keeping you off-balance," Brienne says.

She is gone before he can say anything more, leaving Jaime to stare at his metal hand.

* * *

Jaime doesn't really know when exactly it happened, though if he were to pinpoint one moment in time, it would be when he holstered the metal hand over his stump for the very first time. Cersei started to look at him again, instead of staring at the one piece he can no longer offer her.

Cersei kept away from him. She said that they had changed, that he came too late.

Too late.

As if he could help it that he was held prisoner.

As is he wanted to lose his hand.

As if he meant for any of this to happen.

And still, she blames him for it, the same way she did when they were both still children.

However, at some point she let him closer again. She didn't say it, she didn't tell him. It simply was so. And so he finds himself in her room now. She sips wine, as she does a lot these days, and he looks at her, as he does a lot these days, watching her like people observe birds.

"… You seemingly get along with her," she says, sipping more wine. Jaime tilts his head at her, "With whom?"

"That cow tagging behind you all day," Cersei shrugs.

"Brienne?" Jaime makes a face. Cersei looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"She saved my life," he explains simply.

"Ugh, that again," Cersei grunts, as though her wine suddenly turned bitter.

"What? My life is actually quite dear to me – and at some point I thought it was dear to you the same way," Jaime retorts angrily.

"What I meant to say is that the other men who brought you here seemingly saved your life, too, still they are long since gone now. But she stays," Cersei argues.

"Do you mean to imply something?" Jaime exhales.

"Did you fuck her? Or did she fuck you?" Cersei then asks simply, leaving Jaime staring at her, "What?"

"Don't look at me like that. She's been the only female creature you saw in a long while, I reckon. So it's no surprise that at some point you two... put the sword in the sheath… or crossed the swords, I don't know, at some point I still think she could be hiding something in her breeches," Cersei rolls her green eyes. Jaime narrows his eyes at her angrily, "I honestly thought that you of all people would understand that this is not how you treat someone like her."

"What now?" she snorts.

"Do I have to remind you that when we were still young, one couldn't even tell that you are a girl?" Jaime tells her.

"Well, I grew out of those shoes, didn't I? I mean, _you_ should know best," Cersei says with a small smile.

"Brienne of Tarth is an honourable woman, more honourable than us two combined could ever possibly be," Jaime insists.

"I think I should take offense in that statement," Cersei chuckles.

"It's a matter of fact. She has virtues and ideals we long since gave up on. So I ask you not to stain her honour by making such accusations and slander. Brienne of Tarth is a fair…," Jaime says, but Cersei interrupts him, "Don't say fair lady, or else I will laugh very hard."

"She is a fair lady, yes. A woman who saved my life. So I ask you to leave her alone," Jaime warns her.

"You never answered my question, you know?" Cersei says, taking another sip of the wine.

"And I won't. Get that into your head," Jaime retorts.

If he said 'no', she wouldn't be convinced, and saying 'yes' is absolutely no option. So Jaime reckons the best he can do is to ignore Cersei's demand.

"I don't know if I can bring myself to… accept that," Cersei grimaces.

"You will have to. She is my guest in King's Landing for as long as she wants to stay. And that means you are to behave yourself civilly around her," Jaime tells her sternly.

"Don't lecture me," Cersei says, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Then don't give me a reason to," Jaime retorts.

"You act as though she was some fragile flower needing protection. Jaime, look at her, then you know that nothing gets past that armour. So what do you care?" Cersei exhales.

If only you knew how much goes past that armour.

How fragile she is beneath the surface.

"Cersei, I will tell you that only once: If you dare to do anything to Brienne of Tarth, woe betide you," Jaime threatens her.

"Oh, I feel so scared," Cersei chuckles.

"Cersei, I mean it," Jaime insists.

"Of course, of course," she suddenly says in a soft voice. "I'm sorry, I'm just... a bit on edge. There is so much going on at this moment."

Jaime grimaces at her. She runs her palm over his cheek, "Let's just forget about it, alright?"

"Alright," he says automatically.

And suddenly her lips are on his, after she kept away from him for so long. She consumes him, and it burns down his throat – because her eyes, all the way through what follows, are on the hand no longer there, or rather, replaced by some metal replica nothing close to what it used to be.

On the one part he can no longer give to her.

On this useless thing keeping him off-balance.

The missing piece.


	7. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets a bit of reality served along with some herbal tea. 
> 
> Jaime and Tyrion talk. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne talk. 
> 
> Buckets also play a role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the awesome comments and the kudos! You make me sooooo happy with them, you can't even imagine.

Jaime wrinkles his nose, his chin resting on his good hand, after a few unsuccessful attempts to lean on the metal hand, which only resulted in it almost coming off and him almost throwing a tantrum.

This thing is pure frustration.

"Are you waiting for someone, dear brother?" Tyrion asks. Jaime blinks. Oh right, all people invited to the rich breakfast already disappeared, except for the two Lannister brothers. He can't even remember if he talked to someone, even less what others said around him. It is all a sort of blur now that he comes to think of it.

"The wench didn't show up," Jaime replies with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Tyrion makes a face, "I still don't know how she doesn't slap you each time you call her that. I heard you name her 'wench' at least a dozen times since I am here, and whenever I dared to call a lady like that, I got it right back in my face."

"She's no lady," Jaime replies matter-of-factly. "And anyways, she knows how I mean it."

"You are odd," Tyrion huffs.

"That you of all people say that," Jaime snorts with a smug grin.

"What? I am a very normal man, aside from my stunning looks," Tyrion huffs, returning the smirk. "Did you know that she's been talking to my wife yesterday?"

"No, she forgot to mention that to me," Jaime makes a face. In fact, he saw Brienne only briefly for dinner, but already then she didn't sit with him, since Margaery insisted that she sits with her, and even though Jaime doesn't know the woman from Highgarden for long, she has this kind of influence on people. She simply makes you do things without questioning.

"Hm, hm, she told her about her oath to Catelyn Stark," Tyrion goes on.

"How do you know about the content of their conversation?" Jaime grimaces.

"Do you really think I let someone talk to Sansa without knowing what is going on? That poor thing is in danger here, we all know it. I don't know your companion, so of course I take predicaments and stay close by. It does have its advantages to be small. Hiding in the bushes is so much easier if you don't have to duck," Tyrion goes on. Jaime flashes a small smile, "Anything else I should know about?"

"I wanted to ask you the same question. Is there something I should know about?" Tyrion returns.

"You mean to say?" Jaime asks. His younger brother looks at him, edging closer, "Lady Brienne talked about an oath she _and_ you apparently made to Catelyn Stark, about protecting Sansa and Arya, and reuniting them with her mother, which is of course impossible now that she passed away."

"That was no question yet," Jaime replies.

"Is it true?" Tyrion asks.

"It is," Jaime nods. That is nothing he has to hide in front of Tyrion, he believes.

"Interesting…," Tyrion grimaces. "And is that vow relevant to you, still? Or did it die along with her?"

"What is it to you?" Jaime asks defensively.

"I am just trying to figure out who is standing at what fronts," Tyrion shrugs.

"I am your brother," Jaime replies, now feeling offended.

"Of course, and I know that you and I stand on the same front in that regard, but you may have noticed that people are no longer belonging to one affiliation alone, but that many run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, and do so riding on a horse. People don't belong to their family alone anymore," Tyrion replies.

Jaime nods with a grimace. That is one of the problems they have: That too many clusters build up, in which plots arise like tendrils.

"Take the Tyrells as an example: They collaborated with Baratheons at first, but only those under Renly Baratheon, then with the Starks against the Lannisters and Stannis Baratheon, then they collaborate with Baratheon-slash-Lannisters and in that sense also with the Lannisters. And the Lannisters plot with and against anyone and anything. Even I have many cakes to choose to eat from, and I am still figuring out which ones aren't poisoned," Tyrion goes on to explain. Jaime bites the inside of his cheek.

He hates politics, he really does. Because he holds the family for something sacred, something where you should have absolute trust, but especially these days, even such a trust is ruptured and shaken by plots and intrigues.

"So the question is what animals you hunt and hunt with. Is it still just a lion or also a wolf, or something entirely else? I would just like to know, and you are one of the few people I can just ask because you are my brother and I trust you," Tyrion goes on.

"I don't hunt with wolves, but one wolf got a promise from me, and if I have a chance to, then yes, I will do my best to fulfil that promise to the wolf, but it is just this wolf, this dead wolf no less," Jaime mutters. "And how is it about you?"

"I am married to a wolf now, upon Father's request, so of course I support that particular wolf. And since she is the wolf cub of the same wolf you made promises to, I don't think it's farfetched to assume that your protection extends to her, something that I would honestly be quite glad about," Tyrion whispers.

"You mean to say that you fell in love with the wolf cub?" Jaime flashes a small smile, but it drops the moment he sees Tyrion tensing up, "She is a child who is forced to be wedded to a grotesque creature who is way too old for her, and way too much into whores and wine. I have no such feelings for my wife, but I put the cloak over her shoulders. I promised to protect her, to the best of my abilities. And I live by the Lannister rule: I always pay my debts. Her safety is the debt I owe to her."

"You are a good man, you know that, right?" Jaime asks. Tyrion lets out a resigned laughter, "I am no good man. I am a small man who is tossed around by those who have more to put into the game. That doesn't keep me from playing it, however. Anyone can get lucky once in a while. Just think back to us two pitching pennies when still children."

"Gods, I wanted to strangle you that you always ended up winning," Jaime grunts with a smile. Tyrion smiles back, "As I said, even the underdogs can get lucky, especially since the overdogs tend to underestimate them."

"So what do you think about the situation?" Jaime asks.

"I know better than to judge a situation at present. Ask me the same question in a year, and then I will give you an evaluation of what that situation objectively looked like. At this moment, I have too few angles to know what to make of all this here. For now, I just want to believe that I am right in my judgment that your traveling companion can be trusted," Tyrion goes on.

"You can," Jaime tells him resolutely.

"Well, that means there are now… three people, maybe four with Margaery Tyrell, who don't want the worst for my wife. That is astonishingly many," Tyrion huffs.

"Did the two talk about anything else?" Jaime asks.

"I just know that Lady Brienne was very emotional when she told Sansa about her oath to Catelyn Stark and how sorry she was for failing to protect her. It went that far that I had to duck for cover after all, as she brought up her food into one of the bushes," Tyrion makes a face. "Gladly, I wasn't hit."

Jaime grimaces. That would explain _that_.

"She took it really hard, with Catelyn Stark's death," he then says. "She only found out the day we arrived."

"Oh," Tyrion grimaces. "Well, that explains it, I suppose. So, I reckon that maybe she is still suffering from the aftermath. If you want to prove to be no complete arse, you may want to look after her."

"You could have mentioned it to me beforehand, so that I wouldn't appear like an arse?" Jaime snorts.

" _Please_ , I get hell from my Lady all the while, it's about the greatest relief to see someone else getting a verbal flogging," Tyrion grins.

"She's not my Lady, you know that, right?" Jaime rolls his eyes as he gets up.

"You act like her Lord, though," Tyrion chuckles as he starts to walk away, folding his hands in his back. "If you get to call her names without an actual flogging."

Jaime mutters some curses to himself as his younger brother disappears.

* * *

He eventually decides to go to Brienne's room. Jaime knocks on the door, "Wench? It's me! The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard asks for an audience!"

"Get lost, Lord Commander," is the only reply he gets. He expected no less, now that he heard from Tyrion what happened the previous day.

"You were dearly missed during the breakfast," Jaime goes on with a small devilish grin. He knows it's mean, but for some reason he finds it really amusing how she tries to fight it till last.

"What part of 'get lost' didn't you understand?" she retorts. "The 'get' or the 'lost'?"

"I well heard you," Jaime argues. "I just choose not to comply."

"Go away," Brienne exhales. Jaime can almost hear the hand she now has to her forehead.

"You and I both know that I won't," Jaime replies.

"Go!" she curses.

"For what do you have door handles, huh?" Jaime shrugs, simply opening the door this time. He comes inside without further prelude to find her seated on her bed, looking almost ashen in complexion, a bucket by the bed… and pissed off.

"I guessed as much that you wouldn't be spared that part of pregnancy," he grimaces.

"Could you just… leave me to my humiliation? That'd be most kind of you. I don't need your mockery right now," Brienne grunts, swallowing another load of bile bubbling deep in her throat.

"I didn't mean it mockingly, though," Jaime assures her, now with an honestly sympathetic look. He sits down next to her, "And suffering from morning sickness is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I hugged a bucket the past three hours, that is about as shameful as it gets," Brienne growls.

And the worst is that he gets to flash his smug smile at her, looking like the fresh morning in person. Brienne doesn't like it to be seen when she has a weak moment. She can't bear the thought that people see her as someone who is weak and vulnerable. While she showed her, let's say, _softer_ sides to Jaime by now, she doesn't want to appear weak. He is one of the few people she learned to respect - and she doesn't want the respect she thinks she earned the same way to disappear at the bottom of some stupid bucket.

And for her it's even worse to be brought to the limitations of her own body, brought to the realisation that her body is a cage holding her after all. Brienne wants to believe that her physical sex, her female body does not set the boundaries of her capabilities. Since early childhood, she tried to show people that she could do things others said were impossible for a girl. She wanted to throw axes and fight against grown men with swords, and win. Brienne always tries to push herself beyond her boundaries, to improve, to grow, to beat and silence whoever claimed that this was the line and that she wouldn't ever cross it by jumping across it after all. Yet, now it seems that she is even more limited, if she can't even keep her food to herself. And Brienne is afraid that the boundaries will close in on her. She is strong - and she wants to stay strong.

Being weak is for the pretty girls.

Ugly women don't have that luxury. They must be strong.

"Buckets don't get enough credit anyways," Jaime shrugs. "Many of them take all of our shit, _literally_."

"If the cub thinks that this makes me like it more, it's plainly mistaken," Brienne grumbles.

"I think the cub gives little on what you think of it," Jaime grimaces.

"Too true," she exhales.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks.

"Someone who bears the cub for me would be nice, though I reckon you can't help with that," Brienne grunts.

"No, I fear not," Jaime offers a small crooked smile. "But I can get the servants to bring some herbal tea. When Cersei had hers, it helped her a lot."

"Herbal tea doesn't mean wine by any chance to simply drink myself to sleep, does it?" she snorts sarcastically.

"Not really, but I assure you, it doesn't taste at all that awful," he argues.

"And you say so from experience?" she grimaces.

"I took a sip once and didn't choke on it," Jaime shrugs.

"That sounds truly tempting," she rolls her eyes, even though that only leaves her head spinning again.

This is pure frustration, mingled with disgust and exhaustion.

"Tyrion said that you talked to Sansa?" Jaime says after a moment of silence.

"Was that wrong?" she looks at him with wide eyes. "I thought it was alright…"

She though it would be fine to talk to her. Brienne bites her lower lip. She is really no good with negotiations and secrets. They just confuse her and send her head spiralling ever the more.

"It is, it is, no need to upset your stomach further, wench," Jaime assures her quickly. "Though I was irritated that you seemingly didn't notice that…"

"That he was hiding in a bush nearby where Sansa and I talked?" Brienne snorts. " _Please_."

She may suffer from morning sickness, but that doesn't mean Brienne forgets everything she trained over the years.

"You threw up in his direction," Jaime argues. Brienne looks at him with the smallest of smiles, "While I didn't plan on throwing up, I certainly aimed once it came to it."

"That is disgusting," Jaime shakes his head.

"Tell me about it. I have to bring it up, not you. And anyways, if he thinks he can just spy on me, he is plainly mistaken," Brienne retorts. Jaime can't help but laugh. That woman uses _anything_ as a weapon, truly.

"But you can be sure that Tyrion can be trusted. He only stayed closeby to make sure that Sansa was alright. You are not the only one who is extremely careful for her sake," Jaime replies. "He talked to me to see if we were on his side, which is to say on the side supporting Sansa."

"That still doesn't mean I want him involved with this, just so that you know," Brienne warns him.

"Noted," he agrees.

"So? What are you going to do now?" Brienne asks after a while, swallowing thickly as she can feel the next wave of nausea hitting her.

"I thought I would play the good guy and get you some herbal tea to choke on," he shrugs, which only earns him a roll of her eyes, "I won't be good company today, if I ever am. And you surely have other responsibilities than having beverage arranged for me."

"I'm just looking after you, wench," he argues.

"And you don't have to. I got this," she replies.

Jaime grimaces. Right, he is not her Lord and she is not his Lady.

"You should be heading to see and guard the King," she tells him sternly. "You cannot slack off."

"As you said yourself, I'm hardly any use with just one hand," Jaime grunts, looking at his metal hand again. She nudges her elbow into his side, "Gods, stop acting like a goddamn woman. I won't encourage you and I won't tell you that you are not useless only so you feel better about yourself. The only way to stop being useless is to take action."

"Your speeches are always so utterly motivating, dear," Jaime huffs, though he can't help but smile. He honestly likes her bluntness at times. Things would oftentimes be far less complicated if people just said what they mean.

"If you expect me to _motivate_ you when I just threw up my guts - and did ever since yesterday, I will hit you so hard that you won't answer your duties for three days straight," she says slowly, eyes closed to keep herself calm.

"I get it, I get it," Jaime asssures her. "You are right. Complaining doesn't help."

"That's right," Brienne agrees.

"Then I will have a servant sent to you, for the herbal tea," Jaime says as he gets up, his tone light but still determined. "And I will see after you once I am done with my service to the King. No arguing."

Brienne sets her jaw in a straight line, but then drops her shoulders, "Fine."

"Get some rest," he says before he exits. Brienne leans back on the bed, letting out a sigh. She leaves her palm on her stomach, "Let's make a deal. I will drink that tea - and for that you will spare me another hug with the bucket. How does that sound?"

Brienne closes her eyes, drifting off to light sleep.

Maybe it's alright to be a little weak, but only a little.


	8. Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime deals with his problems of being one-handed now - until Brienne comes to the rescue. 
> 
> Other things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3
> 
> As a small side-note: I saw those knives on the internet. While I reckon that they are actually a thing of modernity, I didn't think it's impossible in a world full of dragons and other magical mojo ;)
> 
> In any case, I hope you'll like it ^^

Jaime finds himself in an odd spot. While he is used to people looking at him ever since he gained his byname of the Kingslayer, he is most certainly not used to have his family and 'friends' stealing glances at him while he is trying to find a way to deal with his new situation of being a one-handed man.

Especially dinner became true torture for him.

He is fine having conversations in-between, doing small-talk, telling jokes and stories. He is really good at that. He knows how to entertain and charm, but once the dishes are served, he can feel cold sweat on his skin and it makes him feel so utterly ridiculous that he has to fight a blush. And Jaime honestly can't recall the last time he actually blushed.

At some point he honestly wished he was back in the woods, traveling to King's Landing, where there was just bits and pieces from a hare Brienne skinned and roasted, and no one bothered if he ate it off the bone, just like Brienne never said anything about it, cutting the hare into smaller parts right from the start before handling him his serving wordlessly.

And so he finds himself staring at the main dish as it is put down in front of him. While steak used to be one of his favourite dishes, it grew to be one pain in the arse ever since he lost his hand. And his metal hand is by no means of any help. In fact, it makes him too embarrassed to use his injured arm in any way, because it keeps making noises so everyone turns his or her attention to him.

Well, so he'll go with the side dishes again. They are easy enough to eat.

Jaime would care less about it all if only it wasn't so frustrating.

That – and the looks he gets when he fails at dinner once more. That he has to flash fake smiles, almost apologetic smiles, self-ironic smiles, all kinds of smiles but real smiles. He used to be a proud member of the Kingsguard, and now he is just a clown during situations such as these.

Suddenly, Jaime feels a hand brushing against his arm, bringing him back to the present situation and out of his own thoughts. He turns his head only slightly to see Brienne sneaking a differently shaped knife over the table. Jaime puckers his lips, waiting for her to say something, but she doesn't. Brienne simply picks up her own fork and knife to start with the main dish wordlessly. Jaime flicks the knife around in his hand once. Upon inspection… oh, that woman.

He brings the knife down and rocks it back and forth – and in fact, the knife cuts the meat perfectly even though he only has one hand.

That he never thought of it, really.

He can't remember the last time a steak tasted that good.

* * *

Once dinner is over, the people start to scatter around the palace. Jaime sought out Brienne, after she had conversation with Margaery and Sansa, right thereafter, stating that he would accompany her on the way to her chambers.

"I must thank you for the secret knife," he says with a small grin.

"I actually wanted to give it to you before dinner, but you came in late. I didn't want to make a fuss about it," Brienne shrugs.

"What brought you to the idea, though?" Jaime asks.

"Well, if you spent such a long time together with you, watching you eat, you start to see where the trouble is, I suppose. I just asked one of the blacksmiths to make a knife with the few adjustments," she tells him with another roll of her shoulders, as though it was nothing.

Because to her it apparently is nothing, or rather something natural.

That is the odd thing about the world: Kindness became so rare that it stands out tall, even if the gesture from the one who offers help might think of it as something merely visible.

"What I meant to say is that it wasn't really necessary," Jaime argues. He knows it shouldn't bother him that much and he knows that it's in fact just a small thing - and Brienne lectured him often enough that he has to stop complaining, to which he can only agree.

"Not necessary is that you think about it much. It may not look as fine as does the silverware, but it does its job for you. And anyways, it's frustrating to watch you eat like that," Brienne huffs. "And in any case, aren't you familiar with what a present is after all?"

Jaime smiles, honestly smiles.

He got two presents of metal lately. A hand and a knife.

And to be honest, he loves the knife, but he hates the hand.

The knife is useful, a present given to him out of care, to make life easier for him, if only just a little.

The hand is useless, a present given to him out of self-defence, to make Cersei's life a little more bearable, if only just a little.

"Really, Brienne, thank you," he says.

"I'm glad I could be of help," she shrugs.

Though at some point she still doesn't understand why no one else came up with the idea yet. She saw the other family members looking at him, except for Tyrion, for he knows better. However, the rest sees it and they don't do anything to help, or have at least the piety to leave Jaime alone to figuring it out himself. Brienne honestly doesn't like royals for just that reason. They forget that being helpful is a virtue, a good one, and that it gives you more in return than you give.

After all, it's just a piece of metal – and still, it seems to make Jaime very happy.

They reach Brienne's room. Jaime walks inside with her. The blonde woman is irritated for a moment as he closes the door behind them. She thought he would retire to his room by now.

However, before she has a chance to ask him about it, Brienne can feel his hand around her forearm and the metal hand pressing against the shoulder to push her backwards onto the bed before he claims her lips, looming above her tall frame.

For a moment white flashes appear behind her eyes. While she is no longer a complete stranger to such touches, Jaime made no such advances ever since they reached King's Landing. However, there is something that irritates her even more than the mere fact that he claims her lips now.

It is this almost desperation with which he does it.

When he starts to press his body against her, Brienne puts her hands on his shoulders and parts their lips by force and instead brings their eyes to clash. Jaime looks at her perfectly perplex.

"What do you think are you doing?" she asks, still slightly out of breath.

"I thought you enjoyed it as much as I did," Jaime replies with an uncertain smile, breathing hard.

"Why did you kiss me just now?" she asks again, her voice lacking the anger he would have anticipated at some point, but she just seems irritated and… _concerned_? Jaime can't help but frown at the thought.

"I wanted to… thank you," he replies slowly.

"And you think that you have to approach me in that way to return the favour over a knife? Are you out of your mind?" Brienne shakes her head, still looking him in the eyes.

"I thought that you wanted it, too," Jaime tells her, now almost sheepishly. Had it been Cersei, or well, had it been Cersei before the loss of his hand, she never would have questioned the motive of the kiss.

"That's not what I mean. I just mean to say that I didn't make you that present so that you'd return something to me," Brienne argues, her voice soft but steady.

Jaime tilts his head. He is really no longer used to simple acts of kindness. He is seemingly a bloody Lannister after all, who only sees the price tag on everything, when in fact something priceless was given to him, also in the sense that nothing has to be paid for getting it or for deserving it.

In fact he is so used to this when it comes to Cersei that he completely forgot that it doesn't always have to be like that. With Cersei, it is either a battle of dominance or a strange kind of give-and-take. She once gave him a night of passion – and he gave his vow to the Kingsguard soon thereafter, so she had him to herself and he wouldn't be married off. She kissed his metal hand once so he kissed her back, claimed her back. Jaime is so used to counting acts of affection and to return them equally that he completely forgot how it is like when someone expects nothing of you in return, or even sees any kind of tradeable value in a passionate kiss or what may develop out of it.

Jaime kisses Brienne again, but softer this time. The blonde woman still stares at him with wide eyes, by no means returning the kiss this time. Jaime pulls away, craning his neck again, waiting for her to comment, "Didn't you hear a word I just said?"

"I understood it, and you're right," he tells her. "This here is no returning of a favour, however."

"Then what is it?" she frowns.

"Just this," he mutters before he kisses her again.

No battle for dominance.

No give and take.

Just a kiss.

Brienne struggles a bit longer, but eventually leans into the kiss, the touches that lack passion somehow soothing to her. His fingers ghost over her midsection to eventually rest there as they continue to kiss.

Small gestures can really have way bigger consequences, or so it seems.


	9. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne talk. Brienne is a bit on edge because of the pregnancy. 
> 
> They involve Tyrion and Sansa into the plans.
> 
> Tyrion makes a surprising suggestion. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne are not sure what to make of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and kudoing!!!!!!!!!
> 
> As for my characterization of Sansa. I actually wanted her a little less, let's say, hostile towards Tyrion so that she even listens to a plan to get her out of her position in King's Landing. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you'll like it ;)

"We still didn't reach any kind of solution when it comes to Sansa," Brienne exhales wearily. Gladly, her stomach revolts less and less these days.

"I am aware of that, wench," Jaime grunts. "But it tends to get complicated when you don't want to involve anyone. It's no longer us two in the woods, you know?"

He tried to tell her time and time again that they have to involve people into her apparent condition at some point, just as they need supporters for their rescue mission for Sansa. The healer was already a huge chunk of debate, but ever since she agreed to that part, Brienne seemingly decided that this was about it and that no one else would ever know about her pregnancy, just as she is apparently perfectly convinced that they can solve all problems swinging their two swords at Joffrey to release Sansa.

Brienne looks at him, her eyes narrow slits, to which he only rolls his green ones, "You said it yourself. There won't be much hiding once you start to show. So we have to think about something, but if we don't let other people take part in this, we won't manage. We two are neither smart nor influential enough."

"Then what do you suggest?" she exhales.

"It's time that we involve my brother – and that includes informing him about your condition. He is one of the few people we can trust for sure. He wants to know Sansa safe, so we should definitely talk to him," Jaime tells her. Brienne bites her lower lip.

"Or are you really that afraid that he will judge you for losing your maidenhead? Trust me, my brother cares little about these things," Jaime adds.

"That's not it," she argues.

"Then what?" he retorts. "Or are you ashamed that I was the one who took it?"

"You know that this is not true," she argues vehemently.

"Then explain it to me. Why do you want us to keep it to ourselves? You said yourself we have to act, in Sansa's interest, in the cub's interest," Jaime goes on.

Brienne says nothing, just looks down.

"Wench? Would you be so kind to reply to me in some way?" Jaime rolls his eyes, honestly annoyed and irritated by her behaviour. She is not making any sense, and usually, she is so blunt that she is sharp again.

"C'mon now, we aren't married or anything, so you don't get to punish me with silence," Jaime throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

Brienne says nothing, still, busying herself sucking in her lower lip again and again. Jaime tilts his head, "Are you… are you seriously crying right now?"

He stares at her for a moment, but that is when she gives him a jab right in the ribs with her elbow. Jaime takes a moment to regain his balance, really that hand is good for nothing, pedalling back into a seating position, "That hurt, goddammit."

He tilts his head, letting out a sigh, and speaks in a soft voice, " _Brienne_. I don't know what you are trying to tell me, so please say something. Pushing me off the bed won't help us either, I fear."

"I don't trust people," she says at last, gritting her teeth, not daring to look at him. "I don't trust people because I had to learn over the past that people easily take advantage of one's easy-believing nature. And sadly, I happen to be made of that stuff. I know that I am, but I don't know how to be less easy-believing or stop entirely. The only way for me to make sure that people don't get to break my trust is by not giving it away easily."

Jaime looks at her with a sad grimace this time.

"I had people lying to my face way too often. People who told me that I am pretty, though we all know that I am anything but that. They told me that they were in love with me when in fact they only wanted to win the challenge of who'd get my maidenhead first. I am not good reading people, so the only way I have to protect myself is not to trust easily, or in fact, I don't trust many people at all," Brienne goes on. "The only people who ever had my trust other than myself were my Father, my brother Galladon for as long as he was alive, Renly Baratheon, Catelyn Stark… and you. So yes, I have a hard time trusting people. And I wouldn't be crying like some stupid dame if not for the cub making me all sappy and stupid, thank you!"

"I didn't mean it like that," Jaime assures her.

"But that's what it is. This pregnancy makes me squishy in the head. All I know is that I want to bring Sansa to safety. And I fear that if we involve more people, and here I am not even talking about your brother alone, but all those you think we have to involve, they will betray us. And I can't have that. For as long as it was something as mundane as being called names or having people make approaches to me to win a bet, it's nothing. But now it's about Sansa's and the cub's safety, and yes, that makes me scared to involve people. Because up to that point, I had any reason not to trust anyone," Brienne replies.

"… but you trust me, you say," he argues.

"I try my best," she shrugs.

"Well, if you do, then believe me that I wouldn't ever involve someone who'd mean the cub, Sansa, or you harm. Tyrion wouldn't ever, believe me that much," Jaime assures her.

"Well, but even if we involve Tyrion, then that still doesn't solve our problems," Brienne argues. "We will have to negotiate… and I don't trust those negotiations either."

"We take one step at a time. First of all, we'll talk to Tyrion – and Sansa. My brother is a smart man, smarter than you and I taken together. Let's see what he has to say, and take the next steps from there," Jaime tells her in a soothing voice, grabbing Brienne by the wrist to offer a bit of comfort. To his relief, she simply lets him this time.

"One step at a time sounds like a plan to me," she agrees at last.

* * *

And so, Jaime makes arrangements for the four of them to talk about the situation. Upon Tyrion's suggestion, Jaime let it be known that he would take Brienne to the Street of Steel while Tyrion said he would take Sansa to the port, when in fact they meet up in an inn down Eel Alley, run by a man Tyrion knows in years. As the youngest Lannister pointed out, one cannot be careful enough.

Now, the four are all in one of the chambers – to have privacy.

"So… I think we all know what we are here for," Tyrion begins. "You want to fulfil your promise to Catelyn Stark, which is to protect Sansa. You and I believe that it's not safe for Sansa in King's Landing, which is why it is likely in all our interest to find a safe way for her out of King's Landing and away from our foolish, sadistic King."

"Nice summary," Jaime snorts.

"Thank you. I worked on that speech for days," Tyrion huffs. "So? What were your plans so far?"

"Well, ugh, one can't really say that we had anything concrete yet," Jaime grimaces, gesturing with his good hand.

"So you don't have a plan, at all?" Tyrion exhales.

"Not yet," Jaime flashes a small crooked smile.

"Very promising," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"You aren't any better, brother, so let's not pretend," Jaime huffs.

"Then why did you approach this topic now?" Tyrion asks.

"Because we have to act soon," Brienne then says, making Tyrion frown, "Why?"

"I… am with child," she says, licking her lips.

"Oh," Tyrion blinks, pursing his lips.

"… Congratulations, Lady Brienne," Sansa says, a little caught off-guard. Not that Brienne blames her or Tyrion for staring at her. She knows that she doesn't look like the kind of woman who even wants children in the first place.

"Thank you, Lady Sansa," Brienne nods.

"And who…," Tyrion makes a face, but then whips his head around to his brother. " _Seriously_?"

"It wasn't planned, alright?" Jaime mutters almost sheepishly. Tyrion takes a moment to gather his thoughts again, "Well, that is of course something to consider, and something that certainly means that whatever actions will be taken have to be taken fast…"

"Thanks for pointing it out another time," Jaime grumbles.

"But, thinking about it… this might actually… have its advantages… aside from the advantage that you will have a wonderful child, despite the fact that it's partly his, too, Milady," Tyrion says, flashing a grin at Brienne who is bound to return, "Thank you, but… what other advantage, then?"

Jaime mutters some incoherent curses to himself.

"Well, you made our dear Father's acquaintance. He is… a surely lovely character _somewhere_ deep down… but certainly someone interested in his own goals. And one of his goals was and still is to secure his heritage, which is Casterly Rock," Tyrion replies.

"Yes, Jaime mentioned that," Brienne nods.

"Well, the problem is that I am… a dwarf he doesn't like at all and my sister is my sister, which means that she does not stand at the top of the inheritance-line. It would be Jaime, had he not chosen to become a man of the Kingsguard," Tyrion goes on to explain.

"Yes," the blonde woman agrees.

"Father tried time and time again to convince him to quit the Kingsguard and become Lord of Casterly Rock, to secure the family lineage," the youngest Lannister son says.

"Alright," Brienne tilts her head, still not quite sure where they are heading with this argument, however, Jaime does, "Oh… you are…"

"Yes," Tyrion nods.

"What now?" Brienne grimaces, watching the two brothers stare at each other.

"He means to suggest that I should talk to Father and say that I will become Lord of Casterly Rock… with you… as my Lady," Jaime replies, his eyes still fixed on Tyrion at this point.

"Oh," Brienne says, tilting her head to the right while Jaime tilts his to the left. Tyrion studies the two with a frown, "I actually thought you'd be a bit more enthusiastic about that."

"Enthusiastic, really?" Jaime grimaces.

"Well, you two… get along and apparently… laid together…," Tyrion says, gesticulating.

"That doesn't mean I like him," Brienne replies promptly.

"Thank you!" Jaime cries out, looking at Brienne angrily.

"You know how I mean it," Brienne rolls her eyes, but then focuses on Tyrion. "But how would that help Lady Sansa?"

"Well, Jaime would talk to Father about the inheritance, and he could offer to take over Casterly Rock as its Lord, but to _his_ conditions," Tyrion explains.

"So… to take you and Lady Sansa with us to Casterly Rock," Brienne nods slowly.

"Exactly," the younger Lannister man agrees.

"Huh… and that would be a safe voyage?" Brienne questions.

"Likely so. I don't see why it shouldn't be. And once in Casterly Rock, we'd be in a castle, which means that Sansa as well as you with the child would have protection," Tyrion shrugs.

"What do you think?" Jaime asks her quietly. Brienne takes a moment to contemplate before she speaks up again.

"I think that their safety comes first. So if it is a rather safe option, I would tend to go along with it," Brienne says slowly, before adding in a soft voice, "And you?"

"It might be the safest bet," Jaime replies uncertainly.

"But, uhm… if I may say something?" Sansa speaks up, biting her lower lip.

"Of course," Brienne replies.

"I don't want either one of you to give up on something only for my sake, or feel obliged to do something you don't want to do. Please, don't feel forced to do that," Sansa argues.

"I don't feel forced," Brienne assures her.

"Me neither," Jaime agrees.

"And you don't just say so because you feel obliged to?" Sansa asks. "Because enough people already fell victim to the King's doing. I wouldn't ever want another person to go through that if I can help it."

"You don't force us, Lady Sansa," Brienne tells her again.

"Alright," she replies meekly, not sounding very convinced. "Thank you."

"Then… I suppose it'd be wise to talk to Father the soonest possible," Jaime makes a face.

"Yes," Tyrion nods. "Alright, Lady Sansa and I will stay here a while longer so that people don't see us leaving together."

"Good," Jaime agrees, getting up from his chair. Brienne copies his movement and opens the door to get out of the room. Jaime means to follow her, but Tyrion holds him back by his sleeve. The older brother turns around, "What is it?"

"Use the time to talk to her about the matter. This is by no means a decision that should be made effortlessly, you know that the very best," Tyrion mutters. Jaime gives a tight nod.

"And _really_ , congratulations, brother," the younger man adds. Jaime flashes a small smile before he exits to follow Brienne.

Tyrion turns to Sansa, "Well, my Lady, it appears that we found ourselves some support after all."

"Till last I didn't see it happening," she breathes.

"While it's not Winterfell or Highgarden, Casterly Rock surely has its advantages as well," Tyrion goes on.

"Right," Sansa nods.

"Does that mean you will finally stop talking to Petyr Baelish?" Tyrion then asks, not looking at her. Sansa's eyes open wide, her hand tightening around her fabric of her dress.

"I don't mean it as an insult or to lecture you. Naturally, you sought out someone to help you. That is also smart, but Petyr Baelish as well as I know that you cannot trust anyone in King's Landing," Tyrion tells her. "Him included."

"And why should I trust you, then?" she puckers her lips. Tyrion smiles softly, "I wasn't born in King's Landing, so I am actually a man of Casterly Rock, for one. And even if you can't bring yourself to trust me, trust my brother."

"And Lady Brienne," Sansa grimaces.

"Right. They are knights, or well, Jaime is knighted while she is a sword, but they live by the old codices. They serve their lords and ladies, so you don't have to fear that they would want to betray you for the sake of political gain. That is why knights are always more trustworthy than lords, politicians, and kings," Tyrion tells her. "They serve."

"He hurt my Father – and he was involved in his execution this way or another, even if he wasn't there by the time," she then says solemnly. "I didn't forget about that."

"Sadly, most of us have his blood on our hands, even if we didn't wish for it to happen," Tyrion agrees. "Even if we weren't there, also to prevent it."

"Then why should I trust him?" Sansa asks.

"Because no one is innocent, because we all commit crimes, because we are all sinful," Tyrion replies. "But personally, I believe in redemption. My brother came back changed to King's Landing. Be it the loss of his hand, Lady Brienne's influence, or the prospect of a child, something changed about him."

"How is that relevant to his redemption?" she questions.

"My brother didn't believe in it before, but now he seemingly does, or else he wouldn't offer you his help. He wants to redeem himself, so while I can't ask you to accept his acts of redemption, I can assure you that if my brother set his mind on something, he will follow through with it no matter the costs. So if he sets his mind on your protection to redeem his sins to you and your family, then you can be sure of his service," Tyrion tells her.

"You give a lot on him," she grimaces.

"He is my brother and the one person in all of Westeros I will always trust," Tyrion declares. "I am good reading people, Lady Sansa, and I read my brother since early childhood. You trusted your family members, too, didn't you?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Then trust my trust in this part of my family," Tyrion tells her.

"Do I even have a choice?" Sansa asks.

"I honestly don't know, but I think that this alternative is an option for you that is more bearable than staying in King's Landing could ever possibly be," Tyrion replies. "And while I don't know what Petyr Baelish offered you, I can't imagine that it will be very safe for you. If we get it through, then you will leave King's Landing with the security that you won't be forced to come back, because we will have the permit from the King himself. If you leave with Petyr Baelish and are discovered by any chance, then they will drag you back here – or worse."

"… well, maybe I will like it in Casterly Rock," Sansa says after a while, her voice soft.

"Oh, you most certainly will," Tyrion grins at her. "You must see Casterly Rock at sunset. It resembles a lion. It's wonderful."

"Maybe you get to show me," she shrugs, looking ahead.

"I surely hope so," Tyrion replies, looking ahead, too.

* * *

Brienne and Jaime make their way through the alleys of King's Landing. At some point neither one of them really processed this new situation just now.

"Well, that was unexpected," Jaime says after a while to break the silence.

"In fact," Brienne nods.

"And you're really sure?" Jaime asks quieter.

Because he knows that Brienne never wanted to be a lady, like he never wanted to be a lord. And now they are supposed to become such to actually serve as knights.

The world grew really complicated, if it was ever easy at some point.

"If that is a way to fulfil the oaths… then it is alright to me," Brienne replies.

"Well, but the other thing…," Jaime argues.

Because it's not just about becoming Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock, it's also about becoming each other's Lord and Lady. And at some point Jaime is by no means sure that Brienne wants that at all. While they laid together and share a deeper connection than he has with most people, Jaime just always thinks back to the few things she let on about her past, and how marriage become a very foul and molten thing to her.

Furthermore, for someone like Brienne, who wants nothing more but to serve her lord as a knight, it almost appears as a cage, and Jaime wouldn't ever want to put her in a cage, even though he knows the wench would bite the iron in two if she felt the need to, or bring the entire metal cage out of its hinges.

Not to mention that he knows himself – and Jaime knows that he is a man of questionable morale, to say the least, and by no means someone even close to Brienne's level of honour. While he vowed to protect their child and Sansa, Jaime still doesn't feel like a knight again. Even an armour or donning the white once more did little to bring that feeling back to him. In fact, it felt more like a masquerade these past days. The only times he felt like a knight as of late were when he told Locke to leave Brienne alone, and when he came to get her out of the godforsaken bear pit. Other than that, ever since he was marked as Kingslayer, Jaime didn't feel like a knight, which lead to him acting even less like one. At least he reckons that this was one of the motives that lead to his _change_ from a proud member of the Kingsguard to someone who pushed small boys out of windows.

"What we want is secondary," Brienne says, bringing Jaime out of the realm of his thoughts. He looks at her, blinking a few times, "Is it?"

He guessed as much that she wouldn't be delighted about the prospect of becoming his Lady in Casterly Rock, but for some reason this stings more than it maybe should. At some point he seemingly foolishly hoped that Brienne would say that she would want it, if only for the child's sake, but now it really sounds like some evil she is willing to live with to fulfil her oaths.

But then again… Jaime knows better than to complain. He knows how Brienne works, he knows that she doesn't want to be anyone's lady, she doesn't want to be a lady at all, so if she agrees to a marriage to him, it is to fulfil her oaths, the one thing she seemingly wants in all earnest.

"Oaths come before personal wishes," Brienne replies. "Of course I cannot speak for you, but that is my personal view."

"Well, it's certainly not very romantic," Jaime tries to joke, though his voice fails miserably at underlining the sarcasm. Brienne's sapphire eyes are on him at an instant, "What we have ever was?"

"Well… we… did what we did… in the bowels of nature… also in moonlight… we have a cub… and the prospect of living in a fancy castle… I reckon some people would be inclined to call that romantic," Jaime puckers his lips, trying his best to keep his tone light and to actually mean the sarcastic undertone.

"We slept with each other in the dirt and hard stone, without getting married before, are about to have an illegitimate cub, we care about each other and do our best not to let the other get killed, and are likely going to be two knights, or well, one knight and one sword, stuck in a castle to talk about trading routes and agriculture," Brienne argues. "I don't think this is romantic. Not that I give much on it. Romance is something for stupid geese and cheap novels."

"You tend destroy the magic, you know?" Jaime huffs.

"I don't trust magic. I think it brings about bad things. The last time I saw magic, my King was slain before my eyes," Brienne replies solemnly.

No, Brienne doesn't trust magic. While she was forced to believe in it at some point, after she had to see Renly being slain by the shadow wearing the face of Stannis Baratheon, she grew almost afraid of it. She doesn't want magic in her life. She doesn't want to be enchanted. She wants to focus on the palpable things in life, the things she can touch, affect, protect, and if it comes to it – kill.

And if romance means magic by any chance, then romance can go to the Seven Hells in her opinion.

Jaime nods with a sad grimace. The pain over Renly's loss is still written all over her face at the mere mentioning of his name.

At the same time, Brienne is probably right. What they have is anything but romantic, even a few kisses and shared nights in moonlight don't change much about that. Marriage is something political, and their marriage would be, too.

"You are probably right," he exhales wearily.

"But this union would have one advantage most other marriages lack," Brienne says after a while. Jaime tilts his head with a frown. Now what?

"We trust each other," she goes on, not looking at him. "I don't think that this is the case in many arranged marriages. And trust is something I believe in and dare to rely on."

Jaime blinks a few times. For most other people, this would likely seem utterly foolish, but he knows what this means to Brienne. Trust is something that built up over their voyage. It's something that she doesn't give away easily, especially now that she has yet another reason not to trust anyone, with the cub growing under her heart that she protects like a true lioness already. Anyone can get lost in the sensation of being caught up in a magical spell of romance and love, but trust doesn't work like that. You have to work for it, you have to earn it, every day again.

"You are right," Jaime agrees, now in a stronger voice. "Trust is the most important."

"Hopefully it will be enough to protect all those we want to know protected," she exhales.

"I surely hope so, too," Jaime agrees. "And you can be certain that I will give my best to achieve it."

"I expect no less from you. If you dare to slack off, be sure I will give you hell, all seven of them," Brienne warns him. Jaime laughs out loud at that, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He glances ahead again, "Well, Father will most certainly be delighted about the news."

"I honestly don't care for that, personally," Brienne huffs.

"Me neither. I just mean to warn you. He might go as far as to embrace you in joy, a smile on his face, over the prospect of me as the Lord of Casterly Rock, with an honourable Lady by my side, and the family lineage already continued with the cub," Jaime grins.

"Oh by the Gods," Brienne makes a face. "That would shatter my picture of him entire."

At some point, both likely try to escape into the joking and bickering to forget about the severity of the situation.

"What? That he'd hug you?" Jaime chuckles.

"That he'd smile in joy," Brienne replies. "I thought that was impossible."

"Miracles happen," Jaime shrugs. "Even without magic."

"True," she agrees, but then she suddenly pales, her eyes opening wide. "Oh by the Seven."

"What is it?" Jaime frowns with a bit of concern in his voice.

"Thinking about Fathers… mine has no clue about this yet," Brienne replies.

"Well, from your description I took that he'd be quite delighted about you finally marrying," Jaime tells her, still tilting his head.

"He will hold on to my tasset like a newborn and likely scream like a goddamn woman," Brienne grunts. "What I am more concerned about, however, is that he is a man of tradition. To hear that I just found myself a Lord and am to marry, and am with child – without any proper introduction won't earn you his favour. Not to mention that I find the thought quite frightening that he and your Father meet. Father isn't fond of the Lannisters, let's put it like that."

"But I am charming," Jaime winks at her. Brienne rolls her eyes, "Not as charming as you think."

"Enough to charm you," Jaime chuckles.

"You didn't charm me," she argues vehemently.

"What? I have good looks," Jaime goes on.

"Back then, you ran around in rags and looked like a rough sleeper," Brienne retorts.

"Still better than you," Jaime chuckles.

"At least I still have both my hands," she huffs with a small smirk.

"Oh, that's so low of you! I never expected you of all people to make fun of me in that regard!" Jaime cries out, though he can't help a smile either.

"You started," she shrugs.

"It will be pure delight to argue and fight with you all day long," Jaime grunts.

"As if that was something new," Brienne shrugs.

"Right, it seems to be the very nature of our relationship," Jaime nods, biting his lower lip. "But we have a truce in one regard."

"Which would be?" she asks. Jaime grins as he leaves his palm on her stomach for a second. "That's our truce."

"Our truce," Brienne repeats silently, smiling the smallest of smiles.

And perhaps that is the one kind of magic she can learn to trust.


	10. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime talks to Tywin. 
> 
> Cersei talks to Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and kudoing!!! You are awesome!

Little time later, Jaime arranged for a private audience with the Lord Hand. He didn't let him know about the exact reason for the conversation, though Jaime let on that it's an urgent and important matter. Upon Tyrion's suggestion, Jaime went alone, since Brienne is still a person Tywin likely doesn't trust completely. And Jaime was honestly glad for it, knowing his Father and the first meeting with her still fresh in mind, because that means in case his Father says something vile, Brienne isn't exposed to it.

"Father? I have to talk to you," he says as he enters. Tywin sits at his study, surrounded by papers and the odour of ink. His study, at some point, resembles the Iron Throne, really, with him seated right upon it, or in this case, behind it.

"Go ahead," Tywin nods, motioning at Jaime to take a seat, which he does, "I will be straightforward. You and I both know that you don't want me in the Kingsguard but back in Casterly Rock as its Lord."

"Well yes," Tywin replies. That is no secret, really.

"As it seems… your dream may become reality," Jaime goes on.

"What now?" Tywin cocks an eyebrow at him.

"I am willing to step down from my duties to the Kingsguard, to _my_ conditions," Jaime replies. Tywin leans on his elbows, "I'm listening."

Jaime tries his best to hide a small smile. This is like waggling a bone at a hungry dog, or lion, of course.

"I hereby suggest that Brienne of Tarth will become my Lady in Casterly Rock. She comes from a wealthy, prestigious house and is someone trustworthy, and since she bears my child…," Jaime says. At the word 'child' his father's eyes are glued to his. Jaime shrugs his shoulders with his typically smug smile, "It was a long voyage to King's Landing… but yes, she bears my child. I want to know her and our child protected which is why I want her to become my Lady. However, we both wish this not to be made public until after our marriage, already to protect Lady Brienne's honour. I want to spare her any so such comments or glances."

"Of course," Tywin nods.

So far so good.

"Furthermore, I want to take Tyrion and his wife along with us to Casterly Rock," Jaime tells him, making the older man frown at him, "Why?"

"Do I have to say it out loud? Our King enjoys to torture her, so bringing her away from him and his influence is the best we can do, especially since you have interest in her wellbeing insofar you want this marriage to work to secure your ties to the North. If Joffrey continues to torture her, Sansa might take certain steps to fade out of this life, I fear, so… let her come with us to Casterly Rock. I can have an eye on her along with Tyrion. We have the security that nothing happens to her - just as we would be sure that nothing would happen to your ties to the North," Jaime explains.

His father takes a moment of silent contemplation. Jaime tries his best to keep up his smug, self-conscious smile. He knows the plan is sound and pretty attractive for his father, but that man always surprised him, and not always in a positive sense.

"Alright," Tywin puckers his lips. Jaime nods curtly, holding back the sigh of relief that means to escape his lips.

"And if possible, this should take place very soon, already for Lady Brienne's sake," Jaime says.

"I understand," his father agrees.

"Under these conditions, I'm willing to take over Casterly Rock," Jaime replies in a steady voice, honestly starting to feel confident.

"Well, I am not the King…," Tywin grimaces, his voice trailing off. Jaime gets to his feet at once, "But you're Lord Hand and Joffrey is… Joffrey. Make it happen."

"I suppose it'd be good if it remained between us two," Tywin looks at him.

"Yes," his son agrees.

"Then I will try my best to make it happen," Tywin says. "I will let you know as soon as I have… news to tell."

"Good," Jaime nods. "You know where to find me."

The young man leaves the room without another word, and disappears down the next hallway.

In the shadows, something moves away fast, the footsteps echoing thereafter.

* * *

Cersei enters Joffrey's chambers without any kind of prelude, walking in on Margaery sitting on his lap, laughing her little laughter over a comment he made.

"Mother," Joffrey curses, obviously annoyed at her intruding his privacy.

"I am sorry to interrupt at this hour, but I need to have a word with my son," Cersei says in her typically stoic but still intimidating tone of voice.

"Can't it wait until later?" Joffrey grunts. "We were quite busy."

"But my sweetest King, if the Queen Mother has some urgent business, then it would be unacceptable to leave her waiting. How about I refresh a bit while you talk to her and then you can finish the tale of the boar your killed with bare hands, hm?" Margaery suggests, getting up from his lap gracefully.

"Fine," Joffrey puckers his lips. Cersei flashes a small fake smile as Margaery passes her by.

"So? What is it?" Joffrey says with a roll of his eyes. Cersei comes closer, "Your grandfather will soon approach you about a certain matter."

"And why is that of concern? And how is it of concern _now_?" Joffrey looks at her angrily.

"He will tell you that your Uncle Jaime wishes to leave the Kingsguard to become Lord of Casterly Rock," Cersei replies. "And I wanted you to know that before he comes to you."

"What's it to me? He's useless," Joffrey shrugs nonchalantly. "I already let him know numerous times."

"You will not let that happen," Cersei says.

"Why not?" Joffrey looks at her.

"Because he is your uncle?" she replies, to which he only lets out a dry chuckle, "I don't care for what he is. I just know that he's a one-handed man who can't even hold a sword. So he's just useless."

"He will take your plaything away with him, though," Cersei hums, hugging her arms, walking slightly past him to glance out the window.

"What?" Joffrey stares at her, turning slightly in his chair. Cersei smiles to herself, though he doesn't see it, "Sansa Stark, now Lannister. Your Uncle will take her and the dwarf with him to Casterly Rock. Now, do you want to lose your plaything? To the little monster who dared to mock you so often already?"

"Why'd my Uncle ask for that?" Joffrey asks, the anger evident in his voice, his pale wrists clenching tightly.

"I don't know, but you have any chance to prevent that if you intervene fast enough," Cersei tells him. She turns around and puts her hand on his shoulders, leaning closer, "You have any chance to keep your plaything for as long as you wish. You are the King."

"I'm the King, right…," Joffrey nods slowly, chewing on his lower lip.

"It's _your_ decision, of course," Cersei tilts her head, only inches from his.

"Because I'm the King," Joffrey repeats.

"Because you are the King," she agrees. Cersei kisses him on the scalp. "You and no one else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby apologize to those who thought this would be the happy ending already. 
> 
> Nope. Sorry. Not yet. Not even close.


	11. Marlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey is Joffrey. 
> 
> Tywin is less of a lion than Jaime had hoped. 
> 
> Jaime talks to Brienne. 
> 
> There is a book and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the utmost awesome and kind comments and the kudos! You make my heart skip many beats each time I check my account ;) 
> 
> I think I mentioned before that I SUCK when it comes to politics, so I hope this will play out halfway plausibly. If not... I don't know, then I guess I can only apologize.

A few days later, Jaime finds himself invited to a family dinner, to which Brienne and Sansa apparently weren't invited, just the Lannister clan – and Margaery Tyrell, of course.

To tell the truth, Jaime is a bit anxious, since his father didn't approach him about his request ever since he told him about it. And now he fears that maybe something doesn't go according to plan. Tyrion told him to keep a calm mind, but Jaime gets all of the nervousness from Brienne, who is constantly chewing on her lip and asking him again and again if he heard from Tywin.

"... Uncle Jaime," Joffrey's voice suddenly rings out, bringing the knight's mind back to the dinner. He looks at him, "Yes, my King?"

"Grandfather Tywin was so kind to inform me that you want to quit the Kingsguard," Joffrey says.

"Well, as you rightly pointed out to me, I am incapable of properly defending you, so I suppose it's time to give that honour into the hands of someone… who still has them both to protect you," Jaime tells him in a calm and polite tone, purposely keeping his voice light.

"Yeah, no," Joffrey grins. Jaime tries his best not to stare, but still, he does, "What?"

What does he mean with 'no'? 

"I have made my decision and I want you to remain in the Kingsguard," Joffrey tells him.

Joffrey publicly pointed out that he is of no use as a Lord Commander, now with just one hand. And now he wants him to remain in the Kingsguard no matter what? What is going on here? 

"How… comes?" Jaime asks slowly, the air knocked out of his lungs at once.

"Well, even if you're down a hand, you still got a lot of experience. And it's seasoned and experienced men we need to protect me. You can still give orders, right?" Joffrey shrugs. "And you're my Uncle after all, so maybe I've been a bit harsh. I mean, you can't help it that you now have only just one hand and are practically worthless."

"Well, I feel honoured that you consider me worthy of that position regardlessly, but I honestly think that…," Jaime means to say, but the young king interrupts him, " _I honestly think that_ it doesn't matter what you think. I say 'no'. You'll remain in the Kingsguard. You should be happy that I am that generous to ignore your apparent uselessness."

"But maybe…," Tywin tries once more, but Joffrey won't have any of it, staring at him with ferally glowing eyes, "I have decided, so you can just forget about it, Grandfather. You might be Lord Hand, but I'm the King, and that means that my word overrules yours any time."

"Of course…," Tywin grimaces, seeing his sinks ship to the bottoms of the Narrow Sea, and deeper.

"Then how about we eat? I am starving," Joffrey declares gleefully. Jaime exchanges a glance with Tyrion, who looks just as shocked. At the other end of the table, Cersei sips her wine with a small smile.

* * *

Once dinner is over, Jaime immediately seeks out his father. He honestly thought he'd put up at least a bit of fight, after he was so eager for Jaime to take over Casterly Rock. That man fought in wars, he never held back a comment even in front of a King, but now Joffrey makes an order once and he chickens out?

"Father," Jaime mutters as they retreat to a corner where they are undisturbed.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," Tywin says, making his disappointment no secret. When he told Joffrey about the matter, the would-be King had said nothing much about it. 

"What do you intend to do now?" Jaime asks.

"There is nothing much I can do now. I will talk to him in private another time, but that won't convince him, I fear," Tywin shrugs. "That child is a bullhead like I've never seen it before."

"But about… the child," Jaime argues.

"As I said, there is nothing much that I can do," Tywin replies nonchalantly.

"Nothing much you can do? You tried so many times to get me into that position, and now I'm agreeing to it – and you draw in your horns the very first occasion you get?" Jaime argues.

"I don't pick unnecessary fights, Jaime. This fight is unnecessary because I cannot win it. I would have fought if he had not made it rule, but once the King gives an order, it is an order," Tywin says. "There is nothing I can do about it to change that."

"But the child is mine – and it will be born," Jaime insists.

"And sadly, it won't be born a Lannister heir," Tywin then says, leaving Jaime speechless for a moment, his head swimming.

"And what are we supposed to say?" he then asks.

" _We_?" Tywin asks calmly. Jaime wants to punch the calm out of his face, with his metal hand if he had to.

"Well, Brienne bears it and it will come into the world. What are we supposed to say about its heritage, huh?" Jaime argues.

"That is no longer my concern," Tywin says simply.

"You can't be sincere," his son insists.

"I can't risk a scandal. If things had worked like we had them planned, the child would have been legitimate enough, but like that, this is no heir I can use in Casterly Rock. It would weaken us by shedding a bad light on the Lannister clan," Tywin says. "We have enough whispers about you and your sister… and the King."

" _Weaken_ us… this is your grandchild you are talking about," Jaime growls.

"Not that I know for certain. Who knows if she didn't have another man beside you?" Tywin then asks nonchalantly. Jaime trembles in cold anger this time, "She did not."

"If it came to it that someone would ask me about the matter, that would always be my claim, and there is no way for her to prove the opposite. I don't want to disgrace her. I have no such interest, but if you call me upon it, I will deny this grandchild any given time," Tywin warns him.

"And you say that the family comes first," Jaime shakes his head, still not quite believing it.

"And it does, but that child, as it appears, does not belong to our clan," Tywin argues.

"I belong to the clan and it is mine," Jaime insists, gritting his teeth.

"I can only repeat that: You can't know for certain. Who knows? Maybe she wants to father a child on you. One can never tell," Tywin shrugs.

"She was a maiden," Jaime argues, his jaw a straight line.

"And she is hardly anymore," Tywin replies. Jaime's fists clench to the point that the veins stand out, "By the Gods! How can you be so full of spite that you do that to us?"

"I am protecting the family," Tywin tells him calmly.

"I don't feel protected," Jaime argues.

No, he feels betrayed, betrayed by his own father.

He feels angry.

He feels rage.

But no protection. Because Jaime knows what that feels like after he had Brienne protect him – and that is most certainly not it.

"That is because you don't understand, but sooner or later you will," Tywin says stoically.

"Yeah, well, at least it has this one advantage," Jaime then says, spitting the words out like venom.

"Which would be?" Tywin says, raising one eyebrow.

"You can take Casterly Rock and rot on it, because sure as the Seven Hells burn will I never take over," Jaime growls. "That's off the table forever."

"Jaime…," Tywin looks at him, seemingly actually upset in some way now, but his son won't let him finish, "The King's order. There's nothing I can do."

With that he walks away, stomping his feet.

He finds Tyrion not far away. He obviously waited for him to return to talk about the matter.

"Well, so much to that," Jaime spats, shooting angry glances over his shoulder to where he left his father.

"That means our plan is gone now," Tyrion grimaces.

"It is, completely," Jaime agrees.

"And Father?" Tyrion asks.

"Forget about him. He will deny _it_ if I pushed on it, or so he said, which means that Casterly Rock is absolutely no option for us anymore," Jaime growls, his voice rumbling.

"Bastard," Tyrion curses.

"Just my thinking," Jaime exhales.

"Well, that means we have to come up with something new," Tyrion grimaces, scratching the back of his head. "That will take a bit, however."

"Time we don't have," Jaime snorts.

"We can't change it now. I will think of something. I suppose the only thing we can do at this point is to talk to Sansa and Brienne about the matter," Tyrion argues. Jaime curses to himself.

Right.

Brienne.

Not long ago and he had to tell her that her lady died. Now he has to play the delivery boy for bad news once more and tell her that their quite sound plan is now lowered into a grave before it ever came to life. And the familiar fear of loss is right back in his bones.

"Right," Jaime exhales. "I have no clue how to tell her, though."

"Just say the truth," Tyrion says. "That's the best you can do. This is not the end, though. We can surely find another way."

"Where does your optimism come from?" Jaime huffs.

"I am not optimistic by any means. I just know that there is more than one angle to approach a problem. This was one angle – and I believe there are more. I just need a bit more time to figure out which one is still an option for us," Tyrion says.

"I will see you in the morning, then," Jaime nods tightly.

"Yeah," Tyrion agrees.

"Good luck with Lady Sansa," Jaime calls over his shoulder as he starts to walk away.

"Good luck with Lady Brienne," Tyrion huffs. "You may want to take any sharp objects from her before you start, though."

"I will remember that," Jaime can't help a small sad smile.

* * *

He makes his way to Brienne's chamber. She sits on the bed, cleaning her weapons. Once she hears the door open, her sapphire eyes are instantly on him.

"Something happened," she says simply. Jaime is honestly still impressed by her eyes, they are sometimes even sharper than Valyrian steel.

"Yes," Jaime says as he comes closer. Brienne puts her weapons aside, studying him - and the nervousness that practically pours down his face.

"I will stay calm, so you can just say it," Brienne assures him. She prepared herself the best she could, and Brienne knows better than to be upset. She understands that her shock with shock the cub, too - and she vowed to protect it, even from her own feelings if it comes to it.

"Joffrey practically forbid me to go to Casterly Rock to become its Lord by binding me to the Kingsguard," Jaime says. "And Father had no way to convince him of the opposite."

"So… going to Casterly Rock is no longer an option," Brienne says, folding her hands under her chin.

"That well dried up all at once," Jaime nods, starting to pace.

"That means… we no longer have a plan," Brienne goes on.

"Not yet. Tyrion says he is already working on a new one, but it might take a bit of time. We'll see him and Sansa tomorrow to talk about the matter," Jaime tells her. "Well, at least that means you don't have to marry me."

"Great," she rolls her eyes. Jaime is unsure if there is a bit of disappointment in her voice, for that it's too heavy laden with sarcasm and worry over Sansa and the cub.

"I honestly thought that your Father would be more eager to make that happen," Brienne puckers her lips.

"I thought so, too, but that man, to the day, tends to surprise me with his malice," Jaime grumbles, letting a deep growl follow. Brienne studies him with a grimace, "Did he say anything?"

"Nothing you have to concern yourself with. He is a gutless, hypocritical, old bastard," Jaime replies, gritting his teeth towards the end.

"What did he say?" Brienne questions.

"As I said, nothing that you have to concern yourself with," Jaime replies.

"Jaime," she tries once more.

"It means nothing," he repeats.

"It means something if it makes you that upset," Brienne argues. Jaime looks at her sapphire blue eyes – and damns them at the same moment.

"He said that he wouldn't ever accept the cub as his grandchild now that the plan was disrupted. He said that he would claim on any given occasion that you laid with another man to make me believe that it was mine," Jaime admits at last, before he throws his hands up in exasperation. "And I could strangle the old bastard for it!"

Brienne nods slowly.

"As I said, just a bastard's words. Don't give a single fuck on any of this. We don't need him, and in the end, we are likely better off without him anyways. We never should have involved him," Jaime assures her, then gestures with his good hand. "So you get to tell me that you told me so."

"I thought it would work, too, so I don't get to tell you that," Brienne admits.

"I am sorry. I didn't ever mean to disgrace you in that way," Jaime apologises in all earnest.

"I don't feel disgraced. We did what we did, which means that the cub _is_ illegitimate in that way. I just don't give much on that for as long as it's healthy," Brienne shrugs. Jaime can't help but stare at her this time, "How is it that you are not freaking out?! Because I feel like strangling some many people. And I am usually the calm one of us two!"

"Since when?" she snorts.

"Since ever," he replies.

Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders, "I could now lament and bitch about this plan not having been successful, but to what result would that be? It doesn't get us anywhere to think of the things that no longer work. We have to think about the next steps. You said it to me before. One step at a time, but not backwards but forwards."

"You are probably right," Jaime exhales, running his thumb and index finger over the corners of his mouth to smooth out some of the tension in his face.

"Of course I am. And anyways, I normally would be raging, but I don't think the cub would like it," Brienne tells him.

"I am glad to hear you say that," Jaime huffs.

"One of us has to act reasonably. While I don't make claims that it's always me, I suppose it would be wise if we took turns," Brienne shrugs.

"So I get to rage now?" Jaime frowns.

"Yes," Brienne shrugs.

"… For some reason I can't rage anymore," Jaime grunts – because, while he still feels betrayed, frustrated, and angry with his father, the anger just melts away just now.

"Maybe next time," she offers.

"Hopefully. I want to break things, or noses, or maybe both," Jaime grumbles.

"Maybe you should use your energy in the training arena," Brienne says as she swings her legs onto the bed and props up her back against the headrest.

"Please, that's for squires," Jaime snorts.

"Since you are so extraordinarily good with the sword even though you have to use your other hand," she rolls her eyes as she grabs a book from her nightstand.

She tries to get lost in what is familiar to her, bantering with him, and reading about things she understands. That is more of a comfort to her than pondering on the maybes. Normally, Brienne would be raging, she already said it, but now she has to think about the cub, and the cub can't have her raging for these things, can it? So Brienne tries her best to believe in Jaime's assurances and her own.

And in any case, if Brienne learned one thing through fighting as a sword, then it is that the worst you can do is to give up. If you lose your sword, you take the blow and pick it back up again. If the enemy strikes you in the head, you try your best to stand upright to escape to the side, and then charge again.

The important thing is that you stand up again.

That you never yield.

"That was mean of you to say," Jaime pouts.

"I am plainly pointing out the truth to you," Brienne tells him, unimpressed.

"This is nearly as frustrating as was the initial time with you, and by that time you had a damn leash on me," Jaime growls, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a small thud. Brienne shrugs as she opens the book, her eyes skimming over the letters, so he goes on, "Just as it is that you tend to ignore me."

"I let you rage. That doesn't mean I listen to you raging and bitching – or wallowing in self-pity for the matter. I told you time and time again that I am the last one you can expect pity from," Brienne says, her eyes still fixed on the last pages of the book.

"What are you reading – and don't say 'a book'," Jaime asks, trying to distract his mind from the crushed plans and hopes.

" _The Fisherman and the Golden Marlin_ ," Brienne replies. "I was fed up with the books about female physiology and parenting books."

"You seriously read those? For what do you have a healer now?" Jaime grimaces.

"One can never know what happens. So in case I come into a situation where I don't have a healer at hand, I would still like to know how not to die, and how to make sure that the cub stays unharmed, too," Brienne replies. "But now I can't read just a single more word about that stuff, so I chose something for leisure."

"Well, I don't read for leisure. I still hate reading for all it matters," Jaime huffs.

"This book is good, though," Brienne says. "And just because _you_ don't like it doesn't mean _I_ can't like it."

"At some point I didn't even think you were into books," Jaime makes a face.

"Books contain knowledge, and knowledge can come in handy in a fight," Brienne shrugs.

"Even if it's a fantastic story or so?" Jaime argues, slightly amused.

"If you don't want to share personal stories, it's good to have a tale at hand that you can tell instead," Brienne shrugs. "In the camp with Renly's knights, it was extremely helpful to bypass some odd or way too personal conversations."

Jaime grimaces. Brienne really mastered the arts of building an armour around herself. She even knows how to make stories an integral part of that invisible shield she uses for her protection.

"What's it about?" Jaime nods at the book.

"A fisherman and a marlin?" Brienne replies curtly.

"You don't say?" Jaime rolls his eyes. "C'mon, tell me a bit about it."

"You said you don't like to read, mere seconds ago," Brienne argues.

"And I have no intention to read it, but it's as you say. One should know stories. I don't know this one. Maybe I can use it later on, too? Who knows?" Jaime smirks.

And maybe hearing that tale will shield them from their uncertain future at least for tonight.

"Well, the gist is that a fisherman travels the sea, though a storm rages. Everyone tells him to stay at the port, but he doesn't listen, thinking that he will catch the biggest fishes if he goes now that no one else is there. However, the boat is too small for the tide and soon, it breaks apart and sinks. The man is swept away, out into the ocean, but somehow survives the storm. When he wakes up, the sea is silent again, but his boat is gone, so he prays to the Seven that they shall save him – after all, he was a good man and did no one ever harm, but they don't. Instead, a shark comes and bites off his leg after he wriggled in the water too much," Brienne explains, to which Jaime cries out, "That's awful!"

"That's what happens if you are stupid enough to lead your boat into such a storm. He's had any chance not to," Brienne shrugs, unimpressed. "So anyways, he swims in the water, bleeding, starting to die, so he prays to the Seven again, to save him – after all, he was a good man and did no one ever harm, but they don't. And so he finds himself on the verge of life and death, but then a ship appears, a pirate's ship."

"Arrr," Jaime growls like a pirate would, making Brienne roll her sapphire eyes as she goes on, "They take him onboard and tend to his wounds, though they can't save his lower leg."

"That sounds oddly familiar," Jaime makes a face, moving his metal hand a few times.

"While they saved his life, they don't mean him good. They consider him their new slave. The fisherman has to fear for his life all day long, all night through. However, he proves himself as a good bandit once it comes to it. While he had never done harm to another person, he knows the arts of persuasion. So he talks captains into deals or distracts them so the pirates can capture the ship and kill off the crew. He does that for a while," Brienne goes on, but then stops when Jaime leans back on her bed, his head now resting against her stomach. "What do you think are you doing?"

"I'm tired after all the trouble and your voice is oddly soothing. So please, go on," Jaime exhales.

"Are you sincere?" she stares at him, nudging him slightly, but Jaime stays in place, "Go on, c'mon now, wench."

Brienne contemplates for a long moment, puckering her lips, but eventually decides that if Jaime is in one of these childish moods, he is hard to snap out of, "Fine… where was I?"

"He distracts the captains to help the pirates for a while," Jaime replies, his eyes halfway closed.

"At some point one cannot tell him apart from the pirates anymore. He is one of them. After he proved himself to the crew, they let him in on their secret. They show him to one of the cabins where they hold hostage a girl from some exotic island they have travelled to before, and now hold her... for their own purposes," Brienne goes on.

" _Seriously_ , this story is absolutely awful," Jaime makes a face.

"I find it pretty realistic," Brienne shrugs.

" _Realistic_? It's cruel," Jaime argues.

"Reality is often cruel. So anyways, their voyage continues and the fisherman goes by her cabin again and again. And he hears her sing, despite all the things that are done to her. She sings every day and every night, in a language he doesn't understand but that is still wonderful to the ear. However, misfortune strikes another time and the crew is caught in another storm, leaving them amidst the ocean, far away from any shore or any ship to capture. They run out of food. They run out of drink. One night, the fisherman overhears the men talking. They want to kill the girl," Brienne goes on.

"Please don't say to eat her," Jaime cries out.

"The fisherman doesn't stay long enough to hear the rest of their plan. He goes to her cabin again, and still, the girl sings. She sings and sings and sings. He opens the door and he yells at her that she should stop singing, that they will kill her, but the girl doesn't understand. And the fisherman asks himself what he is supposed to do. He can't fight them off, he knows, but he also feels like he can't let her die. At the same time, he doesn't want to die either. He has fought for it for so long. So he prays to the Seven again," Brienne says, and Jamie completes, his voice now almost humming, "After all, he was a good man and did no one ever harm, but they don't."

"They do," Brienne argues.

"How so?" Jaime frowns.

"Because he didn't bid for help for himself," Brienne replies.

"But for the girl," Jaime nods.

"Hm, so the Gods send a golden marlin," Brienne says.

"A golden marlin. And what does that thing do?" Jaime grimaces.

"The fisherman gets the girl aloft as the crew lays sleeping, after they got dead drunk on the last barrel of liquor. The golden marlin swims next to the ship so the girl can sit upon its back," Brienne says.

"You said the story was so realistic," Jaime argues.

"It was in the beginning, but stories tend to have a fantastic element at some point," Brienne shrugs. "So the fisherman sends the girl away on the marlin."

"And the crew decides to eat the fisherman instead of the girl," Jaime adds.

"In fact not. He decides to jump into the water to let the Gods decide over his fate," Brienne argues.

"So he drowns," Jaime hums.

"He drowns," she agrees.

"As I said, awful story," Jaime grunts.

"But that is when he suddenly hears that song again," Brienne goes on.

"The girl comes back," Jaime tilts his head, eyes completely closed now.

"The girl comes back – and she saves him from drowning. She pulls him back to the surface so he can suck in air again. And it is only in that instant that he understands that the Gods didn't save him before because he was only interested in his own gain. The marlin then takes them back to where she came from, to the island she was stolen from. And once they arrive, the fisherman vows to never hunt fish again, after the marlin saved her and him. At the same time, he promises to put others first, after he understood that this is the only way to win the Gods' favour. And so, in the end, the girl sings every day and night for him. And they live happily ever after…," Brienne says.

She glances at Jaime, who apparently dozed off. The blonde woman shakes her head. Usually, she would now nudge him in the side, but it's oddly peaceful, and peaceful is nice for a change when their plans were just disrupted, ripped to shreds.

Brienne cranes her neck as he turns slightly, the fingers of his good hand brushing against her stomach, like moth attracted to the light.

And it is during moments such as these that she can't help but wonder if it is her closeness he seeks, or only that of the child.


	12. New Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion comes up with a new plan, a plan Jaime doesn't like. 
> 
> At all. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne have a fight.
> 
> Things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving awesome comments and kudoing!
> 
> I hope you'll like the chapter ;)
> 
> I am still no good with plots and politics or political plots. You have been warned before. I still give my best.

After the 'dinner debacle', Tyrion, Sansa, Brienne, and Jaime gathered once more to discuss the next steps, hoping that this time their plan won't be destroyed right from the start like the last time. Sansa was upset, to say the least, after she had hoped that maybe this would finally be her way out of King's Landing and away from the torture and psychological warfare.

"… I suppose it's really over," she says, chewing her lower lip. "Joffrey won't ever let me go. This just proved it."

Brienne grabs her by the wrist to force her eyes to meet hers, "Lady Sansa. We won't give up, I assure you of it. This was a heavy setback, but that doesn't mean that we will just give in without a fight."

"But maybe it'd be for the best. I think you have better chances just saving you and your child. I don't want to know it endangered because of my risky rescue," Sansa argues.

While she doesn't know Lady Brienne in a long time, Sansa wants to dare to trust her. At the same time, she doesn't want a small, innocent creature like an unborn child to become another plaything Joffrey can toy around with as he pleases. Sansa just wants all of this madness to be over.

"I vowed to your dear Mother to defend you as I vowed to protect the child. I won't neglect either oath in favour of the other, Lady Sansa," Brienne replies.

"She is right. It might be that this option is no longer open for us, but if someone comes up with an alternative, it's my brother," Jaime says in an encouraging voice, winking at Tyrion once.

"They are right, my Lady. This is no complete setback, it's just one more stone to get out of the way first," Tyrion argues, his voice encouraging.

"Then what are we supposed to do? I have nowhere to go for as long as Joffrey wants to keep me as his plaything," Sansa replies vehemently. "For as long as he has the last word as the King, we can knock on a thousand doors, and still he will shut the one leading out of King's Landing."

"You are right," Tyrion agrees. "It appears that the problem in our plan was to move behind the King's back entirely, and use our Father as a buffer to skip Joffrey. I see that now. Which means that our new plan must involve that we get the permit from the King himself, directly."

"And that is impossible. Joffrey has his mind set on not letting me go. How would you convince him of the opposite?" Sansa argues. "Or how would you trick him into letting me go after all if that is one of the sole things he has on mind?"

"She has a point," Jaime is bound to agree.

"You all tend to forget that our King is goddamn stupid," Tyrion huffs.

"So what?" Jaime grimaces.

"He is only smart for as long as people like our father or our sister feed him the right answers. Other than that, he is an immature, impulsive, sadistic fool. So if we want to convince the fool of something, we have to get him alone. Then he has to make his own decisions, which are not at all smart," Tyrion explains.

"Fine," Jaime shrugs. "That sounds manageable, but the question would still be what either one of us would have to tell him to convince him of that. While he is… not the brightest light… he is achingly set on hurting Lady Sansa, as she rightly pointed out."

"Right, he is so set on her because he is not only stupid, but also immature. The best thing to convince a rebellious child is to make the child believe that he made the decision by himself," Tyrion goes on.

"But do you really think he'd be stupid enough to agree to release Sansa when this is something he is so set on? I mean, if it was something that he didn't really care about, fine, but this is one of the few agendas he has in mind," Jaime argues.

"I _definitely_ think he is stupid enough," Tyrion snorts. "And even if he was a bit smarter, you can convince anyone of anything. It just takes the right arguments."

"And you come to have these?" Jaime leans back in his chair.

"I can be quite convincing if I want to be, yes," Tyrion flashes a small smirk. "But I also know that my arts of persuasion don't have enough vigour without something and someone to back up my arguments. For that the little shit is too distrustful of me already. Let's just say that smacking him a couple of times didn't necessarily make me his favourite uncle. In any case, if we want this to work, we need the help of someone he apparently trusts, and someone he is more interested in more than, for instance, the dear Queen Mother."

"Lady Margaery," Sansa nods slowly. Tyrion grins softly, "Lady Sansa is right. The advantage of her as an ally is that she is fond of you, my Lady, openly so, and is similarly fond of Lady Brienne. So I don't think that she will deny us."

"But what do you want to convince the King of? Sending us to Casterly Rock is ruled out now because he gave the order for Jaime to remain in the Kingsguard. I reckon he won't change the course about that decision anymore," Brienne argues.

"I want to convince him to send us three to Tarth," Tyrion replies promptly.

Jaime tries his best not to look like someone who just got a jab to the stomach. If possible, even his stump tries to clench the no longer existent wrist.

"This might be the only alternative we have left," Tyrion goes on, flashing an apologetic look to his older brother.

Tyrion is aware what that implies for Jaime and his relationship to the child –and the younger Lannister would rather do something else to ensure that his brother does not only stay around people who mean him no harm, but also within close periphery of the child he may at last call his own. Tyrion is one of the few people who know, really know what this child means to Jaime, after he was denied to be a father all the while before, but he also knows the current situation. And the current situation is hostile towards happiness, just as it is hostile towards little children in King's Landing.

Tyrion struggled with himself all night through, going over the options again and again, hoping to find a better alternative, one more bearable for the one family membe he cares about, but he found none. It is likely the safeset option for both Sansa and Brienne with the child, which means that it is the chance they have to place their hopes in now, personal feelings aside.

And that means that Tyrion is willing to bear the consequences – and present the case with a steady voice and with certainty in his gestures. He knows his brother will likely hate him for it, but this is not about them, it's really just about Sansa and that child, and Tyrion shall be damned if either one falls victim to the clutches of King's Landing and those vile creatures roaming around and on the Iron Throne. And that is why Tyrion is steadfast in his determination to present the plan with factuality and objectivity.

He learned the very hard way that doing the right thing is anything but easy and always demands a pound of one's flesh. And sometimes it means to let go of the things you love, to know them protected.

He hates doing the right thing, he really does.

So Tyrion tears his eyes away from his brother, and focuses on Brienne instead, "We would be safe in Tarth, I assume?"

"My Father will most certainly grant you shelter. I don't know how it is about the King sending people to Tarth to take you away again, because Tarth doesn't have a huge army, but you don't have to fear for my Father to deny you," Brienne tells him directly.

Jaime, once again, tries his best not to stare.

She wants to agree to this, so effortlessly?

They will just go away – without him?

"From Tarth, we could arrange for Lady Sansa to travel North at some point, or over to Pentos if it came to it. In any case, a safer place than King's Landing," Tyrion goes on.

"And you would take me, really?" Sansa asks nervously, her eyes fixed on Brienne. "This is your home after all, Lady Brienne. And I of all people should know best how painful it is to see your home in danger, if not burned to ashes."

"If it is safe for you, then yes. And for all it's worth, you may stay in Tarth for however long you wish to stay. I swore to your dear Mother that I would keep you safe and she promised me that there would always be a place for me in her home. I will return that promise to you any time," Brienne assures her.

"Thank you, Milady," Sansa breathes.

"The good thing is that we will have a bit of time ahead to plan everything, given the premise that Joffrey lets us go," Tyrion says. "But if he does after all, then this is what we should do."

"It might be the safest bet, if not the only one we still have open," Brienne agrees.

Jaime tries his best not to bite off his tongue as he tries to hold in in place.

* * *

Once they go their separate ways again, Jaime went with Brienne to her chamber. Brienne noticed with a pang of worry and uncertainty how his features darkened, as though someone just cast a cloak of shadow over his head. He wouldn't say a single word on their way there.

The cloak is doffed the moment the door is closed with a thud, however.

"So is that it? You will just take the next best ship to Tarth, along with the two?" he suddenly breaks out, the anger just bubbling out of him like acid – and he cannot take it anymore. He is burning on the inside.

"What? Your brother suggested it, not I," Brienne looks at him, irritated, but by no means intimidated. She knows that he would never mean her harm, even if he looks like a rabid lion right now – and even if the one-pawed lion lashed out at this point, Brienne knows how to bring him to the ground in less than four seconds. That metal hand makes him such an easy target.

"And you agreed to it," Jaime cries out. He doesn't want to yell, he really doesn't, but that familiar fear is back in his bones and brings them to shake so splinters of bone pierce through him from the inside out.

He is just presented with a fait accompli of what his life will be like now, just like he was presented with one when his first little lion cub in a stag's skin made its appearance.

And it makes him sick – because, foolishly, he had believed that Brienne was earnest with him in that regard, because he had believed in a future where he could have something he could love more than the world at last, but he was seemingly mistaken.

"I agreed to it because we have nothing much left open!" Brienne argues, gesturing.

"And I have no say in that anymore?" Jaime retorts.

"You were there! You had any chance to object," Brienne shoots back. "But you didn't!"

She understands that he is upset, she does, but she doesn't understand that he wouldn't speak up during the conversation. If he was that much against the plan, he should have objected, should have opened his mouth, but he had just sat there. And now he complains?

And here she thought women were complicated.

"Because everyone seems to ignore that I won't be able to come along," Jaime growls.

"We have to think about Sansa now. That might be her only chance to get out of King's Landing safely," Brienne tells him, now a bit more soothingly than she usually would. She starts to understand the source of the problem, and she is shocked just how much it seems to affect him.

One should never make the mistake to take Jaime's fake smiles and pun for full. That man hides more feelings than one would ever know. And those feelings are so raw that they brought a knight to the verge of passing out in a bathtub back in Harrenhal, only his realy name on his lips.

She is not the only one hiding behind an armour, just that Jaime's armour is his smile.

"And I just have to deal with it that you take our cub along with you to Tarth," Jaime argues.

He thought that he wouldn't be left out for once. That he could be a part of this child's life, of the child's life he wanted to claim as his, that he actually dared to claim as his already.

"You act as though I _wanted_ for this to happen! I would have gone with you to Casterly Rock, had the plan not be disrupted by the King, Jaime," Brienne argues. He looks at her, blinking a few times.

"I would have gone with you to Casterly Rock and I would have become your Lady, yes, but that is no longer an option. I told you that I won't bitch about what is a matter of the past now, and that is a matter of the past now," Brienne hisses. "I am just trying to fulfil my oaths."

"And that I can't fulfil mine is acceptable or what?" Jaime argues.

Not only the cub and Brienne would be gone, but so any chance for him to restore his fractured sense of honour.

He will have nothing.

Only hollowness.

"They will be safe in Tarth!" Brienne argues vehemently. "That means that you would fulfil your oaths, what are you saying?"

"We don't know that," Jaime argues.

Ships sink.

Assassins may wait behind every corner.

This world is a hostile one, hostile towards life itself.

"But what we do know is that neither one will be safe in King's Landing for much longer," Brienne retorts.

Jaime just shakes his head, feeling dizzy.

Another child his and not his at the same time.

Yet another child he can only love from a distance.

Yet another child he made but cannot keep.

He runs a hand over his face, flashing the fake smile that makes shivers run up and down Brienne's spine, "What do I even complain, huh? In the end, my opinion doesn't matter. You said it yourself. What we want is secondary, right? It's only about Sansa and what you think is best for the cub."

"Well, do you have any other idea?" Brienne argues.

"I think it doesn't matter even if it did. You get to go home. You will have the cub away from King's Landing and its troubles, and you will know Sansa safe. So it doesn't matter what I think about it," Jaime shakes his head with resignation, which boils deep down in his body, right in the centre of his very being, his heart, his soul.

In the end, it seems to be his destiny that he is no more than a pawn others push around and carve letters into.

Kingslayer.

Alone.

Without honour.

Lost.

In the end, others decide how he is to act around other people, what he has to be to other people, even if it is someone he thought would not do that to him.

"That's not true," Brienne tells him with urgency in her voice.

"Tell that to yourself, wench," Jaime curses, not looking at her.

"Jaime…," she says, making one step forward, but Jaime already opens the door and rushes off, leaving Brienne standing there perplex and breathing hard.

Jaime seeks Cersei's bed that night and tries his best to get lost in her passion to somehow forget his hurt, his pain, his anxiety over a loss he feels way too close to his heart already.

What does it matter, right?

He is one of the damned anyways.

One of the damned who may own nothing, the least a child he may call his own.


	13. Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Sansa take action and talk to Margaery .
> 
> Things follow thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around!!!
> 
> I must say that I didn't write much about Margaery or involved myself with her much, so this is only based on the vibe I got from watching the show. I still hope it's a halfway accurate depiction of her character. 
> 
> I still hope you'll like it ;)

While Jaime keeps a safe distance from them ever since Tyrion proposed the new plan, Brienne knows better than to wait for him by his chamber or her own to reconcile. If he wants to pout, then he shall do that. Brienne wants to know Sansa and the cub safe. If Jaime takes a bit of time to come to his senses, then so be it. She won't complain, she takes action, she told him numerous times already.

While she understands that Jaime feels hurt about the new plan, she isn't willing to deny that option only to offer him comfort. She meant it – what they personally want comes second in the face of protecting the cub and Lady Sansa.

And in any case, she is not the kind of woman to run after a man who acts like a pouting lad, not when there are more important matters to take care of first.

Which is why they are now in the gardens with Margaery to seek private audience with her. Tyrion ordered Pod and a few more people to roam the gardens close by to make sure that they are not interrupted, or overheard. After their plan was discovered so early on, Tyrion understands that they have to make better security measurements, because this is likely their last chance. And they can't let it be disrupted by failures as they let it with their first try.

"… So do I understand it right that you ask me to help you to get Sansa out of King's Landing?" Margaery asks, after the two started to explain the situation to her.

"You know that Joffrey hates me," Sansa says, biting her lower lip. Margaery tilts her head with a sigh on her lips, "I wish it wasn't like that, but he takes pleasure in your pain, I must admit."

"We wanted to go to Casterly Rock at first, but Joffrey nullified that plan by forbidding Ser Jaime to quit the Kingsguard," Sansa grimaces.

"Why so? I still wondered why he made such a request in the first place," Margaery questions. "What does he have to do with it?"

"He would have agreed to become the Lord of Casterly Rock under the condition to take me along, but Joffrey seemingly sensed that this would be one of the demands, which is why he intervened Ser Jaime's and Lord Tywin's agreement by forbidding him to quit," Sansa explains. "Ser Jaime wants to protect me, too, which is why he agreed to the plan, and was willing to give up on his position in the Kingsguard."

"And now you want to go where?" Margaery asks. "If you can't go to Casterly Rock anymore?"

"Tarth, Lady Margaery," Brienne replies. "My home might be a safe option, at least for a while."

"I see," Margaery nods slowly, contemplating.

"You know that Joffrey won't let me go to Highgarden, now that I am married to Lord Tyrion. I don't have many options open anymore," Sansa adds solemnly.

"Well, it will be hard to work on that agreement before our wedding, I fear. Joffrey surely wouldn't like to see you absent during that festivity," Margaery grimaces at Sansa, biting her lower lip pensively.

"We must leave the earliest we can, though," Sansa says with urgency in her voice.

"But if you waited until after the wedding, we might have better chances," Margaery argues.

"We don't have that much time, I fear," Brienne shakes her head.

"Why is that?" Margaery questions.

"I fear for Lady Sana's life... And for that of my child," Brienne says, pressing her palm against her stomach once. Margaery stares at her for a moment, "Your child… you are pregnant?"

"Yes, Lady Margaery," Brienne nods.

"That honestly comes as a surprise, but…," she blinks, but then flashes a small smile. "I can only congratulate you, despite the problematic situation into which it is born."

"Thank you," Brienne replies, offering a small, crooked, uncertain smile.

She still doesn't like the idea of saying it out loud. At some point she fears that even leaves and branches have ears and mouths to echo their words into the ears of the Queen Mother or the King himself. While she wants to trust Margaery, for she never mistreated her, Brienne meant it already back in conversation with Jaime that she doesn't trust people easily, and she doesn't trust words to be left just between those who are supposed to hear them.

At the same time, Brienne, on a more personal note, feels a bit awkward being congratulated for being with child. While she got used to the idea by now, the tall woman just always thinks back to her youth and how she swore to herself not only to never be a Lady, but also to never be a Mother. The mere thought of giving birth to a child made her scream and draw her blunt training-sword. However, she can't deny that it is somehow... nice, for some reason.

"So do I understand correctly that your child is also Ser Jaime's?" Margaery goes on. One can say about her whatever he or she wants, but she is quick at catching on to new situations and adapting to them, like a flower can grow through any fence or stone.

"Yes, and therein lies the problem. You know his vow to the King and that it actually demands that he has no children. I don't know how long it will be before I start to show, and for all I know, there aren't many people who would want to see a child from Jaime around here," Brienne tells her.

"The Queen Mother foremost," Margaery makes a face, leaning back in her chair.

Brienne grimaces, choosing not to comment, "Lord Tywin said he wouldn't ever accept it as a Lannister heir, but if Joffrey found out that it's Jaime's, he might find much pleasure in doing him harm, if he doesn't go as far as to have him executed."

"Not to mention that the child would be very exposed here," Sansa adds.

"I see your point. That means we really have to act fast…," she nods slowly, the wheels inside her head already turning busily. "So do you have any ideas yet?"

"Well, the question, first of all, is if you want to support us. We cannot demand that from you, Lady Margaery," Brienne argues. Margaery leans forward to grab her hand with her typical smile, "Lady Brienne, what a Queen would I be if I let it happen that a small child of one of my friends is hurt or worse?"

"One like the Queen Mother," Sansa snorts dismissively.

"And I don't want to be the Queen Mother, so I will do anything to support you – and you, too," Margaery says.

"Thank you," both say in unison.

"Of course I cannot move far out of the constraints of my role here," Margaery grimaces. "As much as I would like to."

"And we wouldn't ever demand that you put yourself in danger," Brienne replies quickly.

"Then what can I do?" Margaery asks.

"We need you to convince the King of something," Brienne tells her.

"I don't think that my word will be enough to let you go to Tarth, however," Margaery warns her.

"And we don't ask you to," Sansa argues.

"How comes?" Margaery tilts her head.

"We need you to ask him for one thing, and convince him of giving it for certain," Sansa says. Margaery starts to smile, "I think one thing is within my powers."

* * *

Sometime later, Margaery is alone with her soon-to-be husband in his chambers, seated on a Recamier by the fireplace. She has her legs over his as Joffrey is busy marvelling at the arrows for his crossbow. She 'walks' with her index and middle finger up and down his arm, "You know what would make me extremely happy, my sweet King?"

"What?" Joffrey asks, glancing at her with a frown.

"If you found the generosity to spare a ship for my dear friend Lady Brienne," Margaery tells him, making him frown even more, "Why?"

She shrugs at him, flashing her sweet little smile, "She wants to go home, my sweet King. She has been away from home for so long. She dreads to return to the Sapphire Isles. And who could hold it against her, right? She underwent such a troublesome journey to make it here. She surely misses to see her family and homelands dearly."

"What's it to me?" Joffrey rolls his eyes, annoyed, his gaze drifting back to the arrows. Margaery puts her hand on his to make him put down the arrow in his palm, "Well, your dear Mother said that she'd be very disappointed if someone invited to our wedding would sail away before the festivity. And I wouldn't ever want to do something against her wishes, you know me."

"She said that? I thought she doesn't like her," Joffrey snorts.

"I don't dare to say how she thinks of Lady Brienne, but your dear Mother is a very traditional woman. And it's considered not very fine to turn down an invitation to a royal wedding," Margaery replies.

"I don't care for her. The only thing I care about is that she put a sword through Renly Baratheon, something I honestly like about her," Joffrey grins maliciously.

"My sweet King, she had nothing to do with that, I already told you. But that's not the matter. Lady Brienne wants to be home as soon as possible, but I want to know her safely returned to Tarth just as fast. So if you want to make me very happy, you will give her one of your best ships. I couldn't bear the thought that something happened to her on the voyage. Do you think you can do that for me?" she mewls. Joffrey contemplates, but then grins at her, "If it makes you happy. I don't really care. She's more of an eyesore anyways. Maybe it's for the best not to have her at the wedding, already for the aesthetics."

"So will you make the arrangements?" she asks with a flash of enthusiasm in her eyes. She wraps her arms around him, "Oh my sweetest King, your generosity and good heart know no limits."


	14. Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime realizes differences between Cersei and Brienne. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne talk at last. 
> 
> Other things happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting and kudoing! 
> 
> And I can only say that I feel bad for bringing Jaime closer to Cersei again. Trust me, I would personally just write him and Brienne an instant happy ending, and Cersei an instant unhappy ending (AKA I'd kill that bitch, fast), but the plot... and the drama... and the dramatic plot... so much still open, so much still left to do and write *sigh*. 
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter.

Jaime still finds himself caught up in old cobwebs as he somehow tries to get his anger in check. He was honestly scared at himself for how harsh he was on Brienne, which forced him ever the more to withdraw from her until he calmed down.

He sought Cersei's closeness again to somehow compensate his feelings of loss, though he has to realise, much to his dismay, that her passion doesn't fill the hole gaping in his very soul over the fear of the loss of the cub. In fact, he only feels emptier and emptier, number and number.

But at least it hurts less.

He is just numb.

"... I thought it'd make you happy, you know?" Cersei's voice rings out, bringing Jaime back to her bed and to her body close to his.

"What would make me happy?" he frowns.

"That Joffrey leaves you in the Kingsguard," she shrugs.

"You mean to say that you arranged for that?" Jaime makes a face. He had a bad feeling that she pushed on the matter, but he couldn't be sure till last. After all, Joffrey is unpredictable.

"I didn't _arrange_ for it. Joffrey told me that Father talked to him about the matter, and I said that your wish always was to be a proud member of the Kingsguard and that you earned yourself that right over years of loyal service to the Iron Throne," Cersei tells him in a soft voice, edging closer to him. "And I thought that you wanted to stay with me. Was I wrong?"

"You could have talked to me beforehand, you know? Instead of just letting him drop the news with everyone around to choke on their food?" Jaime argues, not wanting to let on his emotions at this point. Even if he is angry with Tyrion and Brienne and the whole situation, he knows better than to risk being uncovered.

"But why? I was protecting you, Jaime, us, what we have," Cersei insists, her voice like honey.

"I am of no use like this," Jaime replies, sitting up. "Even if I don't like to admit it. I am a useless knight of the Kingsguard like this."

Just as he is seemingly a useless father.

Perhaps Brienne is right – and he is as useless as this stupid metal hand.

"You are of use to me," she argues.

"Since when?" he turns to her with a huff. Little while ago she didn't disagree when Joffrey told him that he is useless. She didn't let him close, only stared at the stump, at the piece missing.

"Since you claimed me again," she breathes, coming closer once more.

"Not long ago you said to me that I came too late," Jaime can't help but point out, his jaw set in a straight line.

"And I was wrong. I think I actually owe you an apology for it. I never should have treated you like that. I was… caught up in my own feelings, and in the aftermath of the siege," she grimaces.

"What made you change your mind?" he asks.

"Nothing changed my mind. My mind just cleared up again, to see you again, us, the truth," she argues.

Jaime grimaces, his head swimming once more, as it seemingly dives deeper into the cobwebs now his life again.

"What's on your mind?" she asks, leaving her arms on his shoulders.

"Everything," he huffs.

"You know you can talk to me about these things. I am your other half, right?" she tells him in a soft voice.

"I… have duties to fulfil, but I feel incapable of it. So? What am I supposed to do about that?" Jaime replies, leaving the conversation at the level of issues concerning his service. He might be swayed, but Jaime knows better than to give out information. Even her closeness doesn't wash that worry away from his body.

"Focus on what you know you can do, focus on the things just within your reach," she tells him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Isn't that a bit too easy?" he exhales.

Because his mind is spiralling around the things that lie in the future. His mind dances around the cub, of a possible life together, and all the dangers threatening it.

Ever since he travelled with Brienne, Jaime dared to think about changing himself, something he had given up on before, back when he had given in to his title as Kingslayer, when he had given in to _that look_. He thought it was a lost cause, that he was a lost cause. He bathed in the past, in his former glory of a knight, when his sense of honour was neither tainted by forbidden love nor stabbing a madman in the back to earn him everyone's glances and words of misgiving. And when Jaime was held prisoner, his mind, despite being alert for any situation to bring him out of that cage, even taking a young man's life, held on to the past. He recalled Cersei's face, her smile, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair. He escaped into the past to somehow make it through the present of lying in mud with iron around his throat.

But then the wench stomped into his life and suddenly he was forced back into the present, since Brienne is a creature living in the moment. At the same time, it was her steady footing in the reality of the present day that forced Jaime to consider the future again. Because, at some point he can't tell anymore, he wanted her to see something else in him, a better version of himself. And ever since the cub grows within her, the wench forced him to make changes about himself, and at some point he cannot pin down anymore either, he started to glance at the future again to change its course, to change his course, for the better.

And isn't that the only way that you can grow? To reach out to a place outside your current reach?

So should he really focus on nothing but what he can – and not on what he can potentially still learn?

"What does it matter if it's easy?" she frowns. "For as long as you get what you want."

Jaime can't help a hidden grin. Brienne wouldn't ever let him see the end of it if he ever considered it. To Brienne, things that are a given don't matter, unless you earn them. She was given a royal name, and she certainly holds it with pride, but she always defended it, she lived up to it, with her undying sense of honour. She was given her body, and she never had the intention to leave it the way it was. She trained, forged it to how she wanted or at least needed it. In Brienne's understanding, so Jaime learned by now, you have to earn everything. You have to deserve it. And while she is not unfamiliar with simple acts of kindness that don't demand a payback whatsoever, it seems to be absolutely central to her that you fight for what you want, that you fight to keep it.

And to be honest, Jaime would like to think and be just like that.

If only he was a man made of that stuff, and not forged by Lannister-spite and years of questionable morale.

"But maybe…," he means to say, but she presses her index finger to his lips, taking the maybe from him all at once, "Shht, just forget your worries for a while. Just forget the world for a moment, hm?"

She kisses him, lowering him back on the bed along with her. Jaime means to take off the metal hand, but Cersei holds on to his wrist, "Leave it there."

"But…," he mutters, but she interrupts him once more, "Just leave it there, it's perfect on you. You are perfect like this."

Just that he feels anything but perfect.

* * *

Jaime roams around the palace after he peeled himself out of some of the cobwebs inside his head, and Cersei's arms, too. While he has no clue yet what to do next, he feels a bit clearer inside his mind.

He means to disappear into the next hallway, when suddenly he feels an iron grip on his arm, pulling him another direction. Jaime turns his head to see the wench dragging him along, her jaw a straight line, "Come now."

She pulls him down the hallways, like a broken ragdoll almost. Jaime sometimes forgets how strong the wench can be. Her sapphire eyes sparking like blue lightning, as she adds, "I am fed up with you acting like a pouting lad."

"Wench?" he blinks at her, still caught off-guard. She ignores him and forces him into her room, closing the door behind them with a loud thud. She turns around to face him, her face dark with anger, "So now, I am no woman of great words, but I see that we two have… to talk. So we will talk: You are acting like a complete idiot ever since your brother suggested the new plan."

" _Thank you_ ," he can't help but remark sarcastically.

"What? You refuse to talk to me – and you are apparently not pregnant, to somehow explain the behaviour, so let's not even pretend. I thought you'd come to your senses once you calmed down, but you prove to be more of a boar than a lion these days. So now, we will talk and we will find a solution so that I don't have to strangle you for your foolishness after all," Brienne lectures him.

Jaime knew this would come – and he knows that he deserves the harshness of her words, too, but then again, he still can't help himself.

The ache still burns in his bones like wildfire.

"You and I both know what it means if you were to go to Tarth. I would never see the cub, because I have to stay in King's Landing now that Joffrey pretty much glued me to the armour of the Kingsguard," Jaime replies, his voice much calmer, however.

"And you think I'm not aware of that? But what other options do we have? I can't stay here, Jaime, get that into your thick skull already. I can't, for both Sansa's and the cub's sake," Brienne growls.

"I want to be a father for the cub. The thought of… losing it makes me go insane. Believe me, I don't want to act like this. I don't want to be this, but I can't stop myself," he admits, allowing his feelings to show for once. "This... pains me. And to tell the truth, I didn't find a way yet how to deal with that with a smug smile. Trust me, I am just as frustrated about it as you are. I just... I don't want to lose the cub. I want to be... with the cub. I want to see it grow up and all these things, no matter what the current situation is, as foolish as that may appear."

Brienne looks at him with a sad grimace. She is not good talking about emotions. She is no woman made of this kind of stuff. And at some point she is honestly irritated that a man like Jaime Lannister apparently is a man made of the kind of stuff that he can speak free from his heart if he has to, even though that makes him sound like a goddamn dame at times. When she first got to know him, she thought he was incapable of such things, believing that the only thing he could show were scorn and sarcasm, but as she had to learn, he is a deep, deep pit, filled with emotions she cannot make sense of for the most part, but at the same time feelings he can bring to the surface if he must.

And at some point she isn't sure if she doesn't envy him for it. Because she oftentimes finds herself incapable of putting down her armour beneath which she hides her dark feelings no one is supposed to see.

"And I don't say that you are not the cub's father. I just mean to say that you cannot act like it around Red Keep or the royals. You are a man of the Kingsguard, we cannot change that anymore, and that means that you can't act like a father, for as long as it's here," Brienne argues in a mute voice.

"Exactly," he insists, but much to his surprise, her voice rises again as she speaks, "Do you think _I_ like that situation, really? Do you think _I_ want to bring up the cub alone – or explain to my Father that I return from my service to Renly Baratheon with the false accusations of being responsible for his murder, and an illegitimate child in my belly whose father's identity I may never reveal? You are not the only one who is less than pleased about this situation!"

Jaime lets his shoulders drop.

He never thought about it like that until now. He thought that Brienne would be strangely glad to get back home and possibly away from him, too, especially after he acted so foolish over the last couple of days.

He shall be damned.

Jaime is really a bloody, selfish Lannister spawn after all, or so it seems. And up to his breakout a few days back, Jaime honestly thought he was doing better, that he was more of the man he used to be, the kind of knight Brienne is and that he would like to be, too.

That he had grown after all.

"I don't want to bring up the cub all by myself, I already told you, but I will if I have to. Going to Tarth is our only option left at this point, so we have to swallow both our pride and our own wishes to act in Sansa's and the cub's interest. So stop acting like a goddamn woman already!" she curses.

"What if something happens to you on the voyage? Or in Tarth? I won't be there," Jaime argues.

He wants to give in, he does. He wants to let go of the cub, but his fist is clenched. He wants to yield, but he can't.

"I can protect myself without your help, rest assured. Even nine months pregnant, I could still take out five men at a time. And in any case, it won't be much safer for me in King's Landing, even if you were there to guard me. I am more afraid of conspiracies than of swords. Because I know how to dodge a sword," Brienne replies with a determination in her voice that leaves Jaime breathless for a moment.

"That's not how it should be," Jaime exhales, his features dropping like a wet piece of cloth.

"It doesn't matter what it should be. It only matters what it is," Brienne argues. At some point, Jaime is still impressed at her sharp bluntness, how she really takes it to heart to only look at the present, with goals in mind, yes, but to live in the moment for all it matters.

"I could steal away from the Kingsguard, maybe," he mumbles almost sheepishly. "To follow you to Tarth in all secret."

"And draw attention to us, great thinking. I am no expert when it comes to plots, but that seems damn dangerous to me. People will go looking for you if you just took off now, especially now that attention was drawn to your service after Joffrey's declaration. That means they will go looking for us in Tarth as well, and earlier than we can make arrangements for Sansa's safety," Brienne argues, her voice lacking aggression this time, however.

She can tell by the sound of his voice that Jaime is just desperate to somehow stay around the child, and while she could smack him for his childish behaviour to make that want known, she understands that this want is scorched deep into his flesh.

"You are sinking my ships, wench," Jaime exhales.

"Because your ships are easy to sink – if I can sink them with _my_ mental capabilities already," she huffs, but then licks her lips, letting out a sigh, before she goes on in a more forgiving voice. "And anyways, if we work hard enough, we might establish that I come to King's Landing on a regular basis, so you may see the child, just not around the palace. You would be its father no less, just without the knowledge of the royals around the Iron Throne."

"You'd do that?" he stares at her with wide eyes.

"You made the same vow I did. That means I will do anything so you can serve your duty as well, of course. And you could have known that in days now, had you not acted like a pouting lad," she shrugs.

Was he really that foolish to believe that she would just leave him stranded without ever having seen the cub? Jaime should really know by now that Brienne never yields, not without fighting till last.

Really, he shall be damned.

"Fine, fine! I see it now, I am sorry," Jaime holds up his hands, feeling utterly foolish, feeling utterly bad, mocked by the shadows he invited back into his life.

"At last," she snorts. "It's good for you that you finally admit it to yourself. I was that close to hitting you."

"Well, that's a relief," he huffs, but then adds in a quiter voice, "I reckon the cub makes me squishy, too."

"Look, it's far from perfect, it's far from good, but it might be close to being safe, and likely be the best we can get at this point. I am not good with politics, but I think that we can find a way, maybe not right away, but… then again, I didn't think I'd make it out of the bear pit either, and still we both did, so perhaps fortune will surprise us for once," Brienne adds peaceably.

He surprised her, too, right?

"You are probably right," Jaime exhales wearily.

He is really too used to being tricked that he forgot that there is _one_ person who is incapable of it.

"Does that mean you finally got your wits back?" she snorts dismissively.

"I ever had them?" he can't help but chuckle.

"Not really," she smirks, sitting down on the bed.

Even though the cub seemingly takes a great deal of pleasure in pestering her body with morning sickness and the like, it actually has one advantage – for some reason Brienne calms down far sooner and stays calm for much longer, too. She is so used to being at war with the world and herself that Brienne thought it was impossible for her to ever be at peace, but now that she has the cub growing within her, she finds herself at a strange kind of ease.

Perhaps that is what this carefree expression on her aunt's lips back when she was still young was all about.

That she was at peace.

"I am honestly… sorry," Jaime apologises in all earnest.

"I understand," she assures him.

"You do? Because _I_ don't understand this," Jaime snorts.

Normally, she is the one who needs calming down, and now he is the one acting like a fool.

"You want to protect the cub. I can hardly blame you for it. If I were you, I'd probably act just like you, like a pouting lad," Brienne shrugs.

"You wouldn't act like me, I know that," Jaime huffs.

No, she _definitely_ wouldn't do what he did.

And at some point Jaime is honestly disappointed that they differ that much in this particular regard, because the more he feels as though he acts like her, the more he feels like a better man.

"Probably not," she shrugs. "But I understand it, I really do. I am sorry that it doesn't work out the way we had it planned, so that you can be around the cub all the while."

He looks at her.

How can a woman who normally talks like sailor suddenly sound like some celestial creature, full of concern and chances of forgiveness?

How can she just forgive him his foolishness without making him pay back?

How can she be all that good while he is all that bad?

Jaime simply attacks her lips without prelude. Brienne blinks a few times, but then pushes him away, running the back of her hand over her lips, "What in the Seven Hells has gotten into you?"

Jaime honestly doesn't know what's gotten into him. He only knows that whatever got into him, wants to claim her lips, wants to hold her close, if only one last time before she sails away.

So he kisses her again, pushing her upper body onto the mattress, holds on firmly as she squirms against his touch.

"What are you doing?" Brienne asks as she manages to pull him away another time, leaning on her forearms.

One moment he is angry, then regretful, then apologetic, and now what? Passionate? _Amorous_? Brienne always thought that women were the ones with mood swings, she thought _she_ would be the one with mood swings, by the Gods, but now it turns out that seemingly Jaime is the one suffering from that mental illness.

They are all mad, as it seems.

"Kissing you, as it appears?" he breathes with a small grin, for some inexplicable reason suddenly feeling a bit more confident again.

"But why are you?" she argues.

He doesn't answer, just kisses her.

Jaime knows it is unfair, he knows it's mean, to claim her when he shouldn't be claiming her at all. But he wants to get lost in her, he wants to get lost in her very presence and never come out again.

So that he feels more like a good man than the bad man he actually is.

Because that is what he craves, needs, really _needs_ – to feel like a good man again, a man who deserves her kindness and generosity, who deserves this child.

"Is it yet another attempt of yours to repay me something? I told you…," she means to object, but Jaime silences her with his lips once more. "No, no payback whatsoever."

"Then what?" Brienne questions.

"I don't know, just no payback. Just... us," he mutters, claiming her lips again, clasping her shoulder, trying to hold her close to herself to allow no distance.

Jaime opens the laces of her quilted tunic to reveal her abdomen. He got better at this at last, even if his moves are still rather fidgety. He strokes his palm over her midsection, but suddenly stops in the motion, tilting his head. Brienne looks at him quizzically.

"I think I feel a bump," he says, puckering his lips.

And that is one of the major differences between him with Cersei and him with Brienne. With Cersei, there is just hot-boiling passion to the point that he is speechless, but with her, there was and is almost always bickering and talking in-between. Being close to Brienne in that way is the same as being around her all day long. They bicker, they fight, he jokes, she pushes him back, he gets back up and tries again. When he is with Cersei, he is split in two. There is the way he acts around her outside the chambers, and there is the way they are to each other when they are alone. They wear two faces, but with Brienne, there is just one.

Because one is enough if it's honest, at least it seems to be for Brienne.

The blonde woman lets out a small laugh, followed by a grunt, "Splendid! Now I'll not only be ugly but also fat very soon."

"You know that pregnant ladies always have that natural glow?" Jaime chuckles.

"Oh, I am sure I will wake up a beauty the next day – and once the child is out of me, I'll look like a hag again, how joyous," she rolls her eyes.

"You know you already have that glow?" he mumbles, leaning his head against her shoulder with a smile.

"I still look like a hag, a _fat_ hag soon, as it appears," Brienne huffs.

"My, my, do you seek a compliment that badly?" Jaime grins at her.

"No, that is a matter of fact. It is frustrating. My trained form is one of my few good physical features, if not the best," Brienne argues. She knows she is not pretty, and that men don't look at her body to marvel at its features. In fact, she still thinks that she can only hope that a man sees past that body, like Jaime seemingly does. However, her trained form, or so she always reckoned, was one of the few things that would belie the ugly rest.

"Most certainly nothing to sneeze at," Jaime smirks, thinking back to the bathtub in Harrenhal and the wench emerged out of the water like an Amazon from the old tales, her eyes burning with anger so much that for a bare moment, she forgot about her insecurity and stood tall against him.

He knows Brienne would never know how glorious she looked at that moment. Even consumed by pain and fever Jaime could see it clearly, and felt almost blinded by it.

"Well, but that's it. I can train as much as I want, that stomach will grow. And I'll be ugly _and_ fat… with a child… thanks to _you_ of all people," she huffs with a grin.

"Still as charming and goodhearted, Brienne, I must say," Jaime snorts, a smirk creeping up his lips. She pushes against his shoulder lightly, "Och, now don't you tell me that you feel offended. I have to bear this, not you."

"In fact male physiology would complicate the process, thinking about it. I wonder if we'd piss it or shit it," he tilts his head with a grin.

"I don't," she makes a face.

"Yeah, me neither, upon reflection," Jaime shrugs.

"Good," she huffs. "Never bring that up again."

"I promise," he winks at her.

"I hope I will forget about that," she shakes her head, before she grunts, "Too many pictures inside my head."

"My apologies," he chuckles, and she has to smile as well.

"Brienne?" he hums after a short while, forcing her eyes to meet his again, "What?"

Even now her eyes shine so brightly.

"Sometimes I'm glad that you are as ugly as you are," he goes on in that almost singing voice.

"And why is that?" she asks, waiting for the punchline.

"If you were beautiful and the person you are, too, entire Westeros would be chasing your skirts… or tasset," he grins before he kisses her again. Brienne blinks for a moment as a blush returns to her lips and she finds herself kissing back this time.

Jaime starts to stroke over the small bump again, now with almost childish glee, "I think I felt it move."

"It's too early for that, you fool," she argues, nudging him with her elbow.

"Lions grow fast," he insists.

"The cub doesn't kick yet, now stop," she argues, meaning to push him off, but he grasps her abdomen tenderly again. For a moment, she wants to flinch away once more, but his hand is warm and soft and, if only for a moment, it gives her a faint idea of what it'd be like if she were a lady and he her lord. However foolish that is, considering that she doesn't want to be. And that he won't ever be. Their current situation is a monumental proof of it.

Still, even the hard-shelled Brienne of Tarth, deep inside, is reaching out for arms to catch her and hold her, if only once in a while. She also needs arms to fight her and challenge her, but she sometimes seeks an embrace also, a touch of care, a fleeting moment of intimacy, as much as she could kick herself for it. Because she doesn't want to be this, but still... she is, and still, she searches it in the arms of a man like this bloody fool with his feral, smug grin and way too white, way too straight, way too much like pearls looking teeth.

He captures her lips again.

"Are you sure?" she asks breathlessly. Jaime presses his body against hers with a smug grin, "I am quite ready, as you might be able to notice."

"Gods, does that turn _any_ woman on, _really_!?" she rolls her eyes. Jaime chuckles, leaning his head on her shoulder.

Brienne is really a woman made of a different kind of stuff.

"It won't hurt the cub, you know," he argues.

"I know, I'm not stupid," she huffs.

"And I know that you just try to play the one hard to get," he retorts before claiming her lips again. Brienne lets out a sigh, parting their lips slightly, "Fine. But take off that goddamn hand."

"What?" he frowns, blinking.

"It's cold and useless, I told you," she replies with a grunt. Jaime blinks at her for a moment, but then does quick work to remove it from his stump, putting it somewhere beside the bed, out of view.

And curiously enough, he suddenly feels his centre of gravity shift back in place.

"Better like that?" he chuckles softly before his lips are back on hers and she starts to melt to his touch just the way she did back in the moss.

For a moment, Jaime thinks it'll go rough now again, like it did with Cersei, that it will be boiling hot, sizzling, burning, but once he moves into her, his moves are slow and careful, filled with care. Warm. 

Just as they were when he bedded her not on roses but moss instead.

And the whole time, her eyes are on his and his on hers.

Not once does she gaze at the stump of his arm, his missing piece. Instead, she instinctively takes his stump into her hand without hesitation and leaves it against her stomach where the cub grows into the small bump.

He sleeps in her chambers that night, curled up against her back, one arm loosely hanging around her stomach.

Brienne is awake a while longer, once again forced to wonder who is the intended target of his show of affection as she feels him grabbing her stomach ever so often even in his sleep.


	15. The Foolish Carp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion talks to Joffrey. 
> 
> Tyrion talks to Jaime. 
> 
> And never forget that Joffrey is a little, stupid sh**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you sooooo incredibly much for the insightful and kind comments. I am still totally happy about having joined this forum^^
> 
> As a small warning: I can only repeat it another time - politics and plots and political plots are ANYTHING but my field of expertise, so I hope it's passable enough as I have set it up. I just rely on Joffrey being a stupid little shit. To me, that premise always holds ;P Just as I rely on Tyrion being the smartest man of them all, so that even though I bred out the idea, it comes from him, which means it MUST be smart ;P
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy the chapter anyway^^

After a few days, Tyrion seeks a private audience with the King, under the premise that it is something about the money for the upcoming wedding. He talked to Margaery beforehand and is now in good hope that Joffrey will not directly link her inquiry to his. At the same time, Joffrey's fiancée agreed to distract Cersei for a little while, asking her to help her with some choices of garment and to "strengthen their bond". Truly, Margaery proves to be one of the greatest aids they have so far. The Lord Hand is busy with paperwork and looking on grimly. And Sansa is Brienne. For as long as she is with her, nothing much will happen to the girl.

And that means that the fool is now on his own at last.

"My King," Tyrion says as he walks inside, bowing to his nephew as he is required to.

"What is it? Make it quick," Joffrey grumbles.

"I heard from your Mother that you have a ship made ready to take Lady Brienne to Tarth little time from now," Tyrion begins as he comes to stand in front of him.

"What's it to you what I do with her or my ships?" Joffrey demands, narrowing his eyes at the dwarf, who replies, "I ask because your Mother said that I will go with her to Tarth. We are still missing a bit of money for the monstrosity of feast you intend to give to celebrate your marriage to Lady Margaery. And your Mother said that I have to convince Lord Selwyn to financially contribute."

"I don't care about the money, that's your job," Joffrey argues.

"Well, I care about it because I don't want to leave King's Landing," Tyrion tells him. "I will only throw up the whole time of the voyage and I don't want to leave my home."

"I don't give a damn on what you want," Joffrey retorts.

"She said that the ship is to leave before the wedding," Tyrion argues.

"So?" Joffrey knits his eyebrows at him.

"Your Mother doesn't want me at your wedding. I know you and I don't share a _good_ relationship, but to leave me out of the wedding would be a disgrace for me," Tyrion tells him, making Joffrey smile with growing malicious delight, "Is that so?"

"I only have my name and my family ties. How would it look like if the King disinvited me, his uncle?" Tyrion tells him in a grave voice. Joffrey bites his lower lip, liking the sound of that way too much.

"Please," Tyrion adds, gritting his teeth. Joffrey's grin only broadens as he sees the man struggling, not wanting to beg, but still having to.

"You are Master of the Coin, that means you have to gather the coins," Joffrey shrugs.

"You can't mean that," Tyrion stares at him.

"I think I do," Joffrey shrugs.

"But will you let at least Lady Sansa stay for the wedding? Your Mother said that you'd send her with me to Tarth," Tyrion asks him.

"Why would I send her to Tarth?" Joffrey tilts his head.

"I don't know, I just know that your Mother warned me that you would, or rather, that she would make you do that," Tyrion tells him.

"She doesn't make me do anything," Joffrey insists.

"That is what I told her, too, but you know your Mother. She can be quite convincing," Tyrion argues.

"I say who comes and goes, not her," Joffrey growls.

"Which is why I turn to you. I hope that you will tell her that Lady Sansa should remain in King's Landing," Tyrion nods.

"Why are you so eager in her staying here?" Joffrey cocks an eyebrow at him.

"I fear for her life," Tyrion replies with urgency in his voice.

"Why?" the young King questions with a frown.

"You know that she is my wedded wife and that we have marital responsibilities. While it's not yet certain, she might possibly be with my child," Tyrion explains.

"I still wonder how that would ever work with such a tiny cock," Joffrey makes a face. Tyrion bites his lower lip, choosing to bite down the comment he would like to say right now.

"To send her on a ship might be disastrous, if she is indeed with child. Now just imagine that we end up in a storm and she is rocked back and forth and the child is shaken out of her! Lady Sansa would be inconsolable, if not devastated. I can't let that happen. And even if not, and I pray for that… Just imagine how upset she'd already be about being disinvited from your wedding. She is an honourable young Lady. Imagine her disappointment if she was denied even that last bit of honour," Tyrion tells him.

"She'd suffer, you say?" Joffrey flashes a small smile, his eyes gleaming.

"Of course she would, which is why I beg you to talk the Queen Mother out of it," Tyrion tells him urgently.

"I don't have to talk her out of it, you have to talk me into it," Joffrey corrects him.

"That's what I told her, too, but she said to me that I could beg you all I wanted, that she'd still make the decision by the end of the day. She said that she already convinced you to deny your Uncle Jaime the retirement, so she would certainly work that as well," Tyrion shakes his head.

"What?!" Joffrey cries out.

"I was just as shocked. I think she is a bit upset about the upcoming marriage, so I wouldn't make much out of it, but she is your Mother and she has more to say than I. So I beg you, don't send us to Tarth, don't disgrace us by disinviting you from your wedding. I beg you not to listen to your Mother," Tyrion says, bowing his head.

"I give the orders!" Joffrey barks.

"Please," Tyrion begs him.

"You will sail to Tarth the earliest possible. I don't want to see your ugly face anywhere near my wedding. And you will take Sansa along with you. Shall she rock the baby monster, if there is, out of her body while on the boat," Joffrey tells him.

"No, please," Tyrion gestures.

"I have spoken. I will have all arrangements made for you to leave the soonest possible," Joffrey declares. "Get out of my sight, now!"

"Yes, as you wish, my King," Tyrion exhales wearily as he turns around and leaves the room, grinning to himself as he goes.

* * *

Jaime waits for him down the hallway, leaning against a wall.

"And?" he asks once he catches sight of Tyrion approaching.

"I would say the carp didn't just bite into the bait, he swallowed the whole thing at once," Tyrion grins.

"Good," the older brother smirks. "So he bought Sansa's maybe-pregnancy?"

"I told you he's stupid," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "The good thing is that I don't have to bring proof for it. Even if he tells Cersei or Tywin, I said that only that she _might_ be, so if it turns out that she's not, it shouldn't pose a threat to her."

"Well, I won't rejoice until we know for certain that the plan works out," Jaime shrugs.

"Trust me, me neither," the younger man huffs.

"But it's at least a small success," Jaime offers.

"Indeed. The other good thing is that he will likely leave the Queen Mother boiling in her own spiteful juices for a while," Tyrion grins smugly. "He was most certainly not pleased that I told him that she manipulates him. I mean, who would dare, right?"

Jaime chuckles softly.

"I actually wanted to have a word with you," Tyrion then says in a graver voice. Jaime knows right away what that must be about, "Yeah, I know I made myself rare the last few days. I… took a bit of time to process it."

"You mean that you acted like an immature arse? Yes, we all noticed," Tyrion snorts.

" _Thank you_! I already got it from the wench, and I see it, alright?" Jaime rolls his eyes.

They stop in an empty hallway where there is no one in sight.

"I just want you to know that I didn't propose this to hurt you," Tyrion mutters. Jaime blinks at him, startled, "I never thought that."

No, he knows that Tyrion would never mean him harm.

Tyrion is the one Lannister who wouldn't ever mean him harm.

"I would have proposed another idea if I had one, believe me that much, but this seems the safest option at this point," Tyrion goes on.

"I know, Tyrion. I overreacted, that's all," Jaime argues.

"Really, if only you had stumbled into the Maiden of Tarth before," Tyrion exhales. "Things would be much easier, then."

"What now?" Jaime frowns. "Do you really think that it would have changed the world's course?"

"Of course not, but maybe that would have kept you out of the Kingsguard and out of a certain someone's arms," Tyrion argues. Jaime makes a face.

"Then you could just be... what you want to be to the... how do you call it again?" Tyrion grimaces.

"Cub," Jaime scaffolds.

"Then you could be to the _cub_ what you want to be now, without any trouble," the younger Lannister says.

"Well, but this is the world we live in now, don't we?" Jaime exhales.

At some point the idea is truly tempting, to dream about a world where Brienne and he just met each other by chance. Where she didn't see him for the first time in a cage, metal around his neck, smeared with mud and shame. Where she wasn't an object of scorn by her knightly fellows under Renly Baratheon. Where she was not made a knight bearing the same vile byname he does, and that even though she loved her King beyond reason, beyond a word's description. Where she did not have to swear allegiance to Catelyn Stark, only to hear it way too late that her Lady has passed before. To think about a world where two persons who somehow don't come to fit into a world ruled by politics and plots fit into each other's world, fall in love, the very old-fashioned way, with wooing and flowers... or well, that seems rather too farfetched, so maybe wooing by means of swordfight... and marriage with only a septon and themselves, and a cub no one would ever dare question is theirs, is hers, is his.

Jaime could bathe in those endless possibilities, but he knows it doesn't get him far.

Because this is the world they live in, whether they like it, or not.

"Sadly so," Tyrion sighs in agreement.

"Well, Brienne said that she'd give her best to make it possible that I get to see the cub. I am counting on that for now, I suppose," Jaime shrugs his shoulders.

"That woman surely is a bundle of surprises," Tyrion grimaces.

"What? If you didn't notice, she has a better morale than all of us combined. And that is why she proposed it," Jaime says, the corners of his mouth flexing involuntarily.

"Yeah, no, I understand that. I just still ask myself how she puts up with you," Tyrion snorts.

"That... is something I ask myself every day anew," Jaime sighs, now more honest than he'd like to.

Because at this point, he has honestly no clue how she puts up with him, and still finds the strength to somehow treat him with kindness.

With Cersei, he always knew that a bad man laid with a bad woman, but when he lays with Brienne, when he is with Brienne, it is a bad man with a good woman. She proves it to him every single day anew, and at some point, it scares him. Like a light you do not dare to touch because it shines so much brighter than any natural way to illuminate a dark place like this world is.

Being with Cersei smoothed out the edges of his darkness by consuming them. Their contours were distorted so no one could tell them apart from each other, and neither could be told apart from the shadows dancing on their skin.

Being with Brienne illuminates him in some places, but also exposes all shadowy edges and ugly spots to view, actually calls attention to every bump, every corner of darkness.

If only he wasn't a bad man.

If only he was a good man.

"Though I really mean it. I wished for all of it to be different," Tyrion says, bringing Jaime back to reality at once.

"It's most definitely not your fault. We did what we did, so we have to live with the consequences," Jaime argues. "And make the best out of it."

"I will pull whatever threads I can once it's safe, be sure of that," Tyrion assures him.

"I knew I can always count on you," Jaime shakes his head with a smile.

"I am obviously doing it for... the cub," Tyrion chuckles softly. "After all, it will be part of my clan, too, no?"

"Well, we did one step in the right direction, then," Jaime offers.

"Which is why I will celebrate now, or no, I mean of course that I will drown my sorrows over the King's decision in wine," Tyrion sticks out his tongue. "Lots of wine."

"You do that. You earned yourself... a night of drowning in wine," Jaime winks at him, patting Tyrion on the shoulder once, gently squeezing it.


	16. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey makes things official. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne talk about oaths. 
> 
> Other things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around, you are an awesome readership! I'm sorry that I took a bit longer with the updating, but I had to wrap up my other J/B fanfiction first! And yay! I finished a story! So now I can set my mind on this one!
> 
> I have struggled a bit with how I want to proceed with this story, but I decided to go with my original set-up for the main part, given a few alterations. I don't know, I guess I just want to work with what I had originally planned, though I have no clue if this will pan out in the end. 
> 
> I still hope you'll enjoy ;)

Some time later, Jaime and Tyrion find themselves invited to yet another private family dinner, though that was everything they expected.

And in secret also hoped for, of course.

"I have an announcement to make," Joffrey says, sipping his wine.

"And what is it?" Cersei asks, tilting her head.

"I have decided that my uncle Tyrion will accompany Lady Brienne on her way to Tarth," Joffrey declares. "Along with his wife."

All eyes are instantly on him.

"He will handle some financial issues there and is not to return until after the wedding, if not far later," Joffrey adds.

"You want to disinvite your uncle from your wedding, is that correct?" Tywin questions.

"Yes. I don't want any issues at my wedding," Joffrey replies.

"Don't you think it might be a bit of a scandal?" Tywin argues, his voice calm, though one can see that he is quite shocked.

"Not really. And even if it was, I don't have to care," Joffrey replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "Or do you mean to tell me that I have to care, Grandfather? Do you mean to say that I have to bother myself about public opinion, as the King?"

"Of course... not," the grandfather grimaces, glancing over at Jaime and Tyrion once, but chooses not to comment further.

"Splendid, then it is decided," Joffrey says, shifting in his seat with spiteful glee at the thought of disgracing not only his uncle but also Sansa.

The dinner goes on uneventfully thereafter, after all, not many bother about the destiny of a dwarf and his married wife, who happens to be the daughter of a "traitor".

Once they are done dining, the family scatters out again.

"Well, little brother, that seemingly didn't go as you had it planned, huh?" Cersei taunts Tyrion as she draws closer. He expected no less from her.

"Seemingly not," he shrugs.

"You seem rather calm," Cersei cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Well, I already feared for it to happen, what can I say? Though you seem very much relieved about the matter, huh?" Tyrion snorts.

" _Relieved_? Of course not," Cersei smiles.

"Yeah, yeah, you enjoy it that you got your will for once," Tyrion rolls his eyes before he walks off, chuckling to himself. Immature, rebellious fools are easy to convince, but black widows are even harder to convince. So the best you can do is to give them the feeling that they won.

Meanwhile, Tywin sought out Jaime.

"Am I correct that this is your doing once more?" Tywin questions, his voice low.

"Not at all. The King makes his decision by himself, as we all know that. And in any case, why would you care?" Jaime retorts, though he keeps his tune light like a bird's song.

"I am not the King, so I see it when my son, along with Sansa Stark, goes on a voyage away from King's Landing. So naturally, I am concerned about the ties to the North the Lannisters could already establish by means of marriage," Tywin says.

"You don't have to be concerned, obviously," Jaime argues.

"Why not?" his father grimaces.

"Because I am apparently staying in King's Landing, also thanks to you, so my brother would never expose me to the danger of being suspected of having taken part in a conspiracy, if it came to it. In contrast to _some_ certain people... who happen to be Lord Hand, he really does give something on family allegiance," Jaime replies.

"What if I told the King about my suspicion?" Tywin questions.

"Oh, do it, please. Though I may warn you that our dear King is a bit more rebellious lately, as you may have noticed. Marriage makes people acting a bit rash at times, I fear. And it's as you said before: What the King says is rule," Jaime says, clapping his father on the shoulder with a fake smile before walking back over to Tyrion.

"That went better than I thought," Jaime grins as they leave the room.

"I reckon it's time to inform the ladies, no?" Tyrion chuckles softly.

"We better should," the older brother agrees.

* * *

They make their way to Brienne's room, where she and Sansa stayed ever since the dinner was announced.

"How did it go?" is the instant question coming from the blonde woman once the door opens.

"A good evening to you, too, wench," Jaime chuckles as he closes the door. Brienne rolls her eyes at him.

"As far as we can judge, everything goes according to plan. Joffrey proclaimed that we are not invited and are to leave to Tarth soon," Tyrion announces.

"What a relief," Sansa exhales, touching her chest, but then forces her eyes back open and to them, "And what did Cersei say about the matter?"

"Well, the good thing is that she approves this for more than one reason, so we actually have good chances that she will not stand in our way this time," Tyrion shrugs.

"What about your Father?" Brienne questions.

"He is… _alarmed_ ," Jaime grimaces.

"Do you think he will stop the voyage?" Sansa asks.

"If Joffrey keeps insisting, he can't," Jaime shrugs. "Even though our Father is influential, especially as Lord Hand, he can't stop the King at some point."

"But what if he tells him about his suspicions or whatever else? Don't you think Joffrey would believe it?" Sansa insists.

"That is one of the risks we had to take for this plan. Though I still hope that I poked the King enough with comments about how everyone tells him what to do. He will be pretty annoyed at our sister and our father for a while, if he doesn't cover his ears with his hands and tells them to shut up. I think he'd actually do that," Tyrion huffs.

"I thought you only implied something like that when you pleaded to him not to send you to Tarth, and only concerning Cersei," Sansa tilts her head, to which Tyrion replies with a grin, "Oh no, I spread some more rumours, and so did dear Margaery, nothing much, but he flushed angrily a lot, that much I can say for certain."

"That explains why he didn't talk to them right after the dinner," Jaime nods slowly. His brother is really the smartest of them all, though he doesn't like it that Tyrion obviously left him out of that part of the plan, but then again, Tyrion only involves people into the details he thinks are necessary.

He is a born tactician after all, and Tyrion understood very early on, so Jaime knows, that if you can't trump with physical strength, your mind must be ever the sharper. And Tyrion's mind is sharper than any blade made of Valyrian steel could ever possibly be.

"Exactly," his younger brother agrees. "And I still build on the premise that he, despite what he says, has interest in my niece or nephew, which means that he likely wants to know it secured. After all, he might need him or her later on to take Casterly Rock after all."

"He said he wouldn't ever allow that," Jaime grimaces.

"Our Father is too smart to believe that a word sets anything into stone. He likes to keep his options open without getting too involved," Tyrion replies. "He might well revise his 'opinion' once it is to his advantage."

"So… our chances are standing good," Sansa says, needing to make sure that this is not just a hoax, that there is a chance after all, however small it may be.

"Very good indeed, which is why I will now retire to my room to get some well-deserved rest. My Lady, care to accompany me?" Tyrion winks at her.

"I am tired anyways," she says, getting up. Sansa turns to Brienne, "Thanks for keeping me company, Milady."

Brienne gives a nod and a smile as Sansa and Tyrion make their way to the door.

"Then have a good night," Tyrion says before they leave.

"So? What interesting things did you get to do while I was stuck with the dear family?" Jaime exhales as he walks over to her.

"You mean other than _spectacularly_ waiting in this chamber?" she snorts.

"Well yes?" Jaime chuckles softly. It's odd, really, to think back to when he first met her. He honestly thought the wench was incapable of sarcasm, let alone humour, but once Jaime got to know her better and some of her defences fell, he realised that Brienne is actually very witty and cunning if she wants to be.

"I found an old chessboard in one of the drawers. Lady Sansa and I played that for a while, which was much more interesting than talking for hours," Brienne says. "I am not good doing small talk."

"I realised," he snorts, which only earns him another roll of sapphire eyes. Jaime laughs to himself.

"You play chess? I thought you are no tactician," Jaime goes on, still bemused.

"And I am not, but my Father taught me when I was still very young. Though it's been years since I last played," Brienne shrugs.

"I remember with horror how I was supposed to learn it. Tyrion loved it. I hated it," Jaime shudders dramatically.

"I was actually surprised that I liked it in the end, though I reckon the explanation is rather straightforward," Brienne shrugs.

"Care to enlighten me?" Jaime asks.

"You play with open cards, pretty much. You can't hide anything, or at least you have any chance to see everything at once," Brienne shrugs. "You can't cheat."

"That makes sense indeed," Jaime agrees.

And suddenly this hits him on a very personal level.

Maybe that's why he is no good playing chess.

"I am still not very good at it, though," Brienne shrugs. "It is as you say, I am no tactician."

Jaime sits down next to her with a sigh.

"… How is it for you? Now that the plan seems to work out?" she asks after a while, her voice soft and rather insecure.

"I guess I feel more confident that this is the safest bet at this point," Jaime admits truthfully.

"And beside that?" she asks. Brienne still feels no good talking about these matters, but she thinks she must. No, she _knows_ she must. Because it will be a strain on him that she cannot even imagine. So the least she can do is... well, show a bit of support.

"I suppose I get used to the idea…," Jaime exhales, puckering his lips, but then decides that he doesn't want to think about his own conflicting feelings for once, "And you? Any ideas yet how to tell your Father?"

"As I said, he won't be against it much, for as long as he gets his heir to secure Tarth's lineage," Brienne shrugs, figuring that he doesn't want to dig further into the matter. And Brienne is the last one to deny him that. He doesn't deny her either. It's honestly nice for once to have someone who tends to escape these touchy questions, too, and to have someone who actually understands that one's sex really doesn't enable you more or less to talk about and negotiate one's feelings. In that regard, Brienne is hardly a woman, or so she reckons.

"At least one Father does. I bet my Father still kicks himself in the arse for it," Jaime snorts.

"You actually think?" she tilts her head.

"Not really. He always thinks that he makes the right decisions in the end," Jaime huffs.

"It seems to be a Lannister trait, no?" Brienne replies.

"What? I can admit a mistake," Jaime insists with a grin.

"Hardly so," Brienne grunts.

"But I potentially can. I actually already did, let's not forget," Jaime argues.

Maybe not all, but some.

Maybe not the ones that really matter, but some of significance.

"Even if so, what does that tell us? That you are no real Lannister?" Brienne frowns.

"Would that be a good thing, you think?" Jaime asks with a grimace.

Would that make him less of a bad man?

"I don't give much on the Lannisters in general," Brienne shrugs.

"Oh, that hurts," Jaime exclaims.

"What? They did more than questionable things, especially lately. Not to mention that there is more than one Lannister who takes pleasure in Lady Sansa's pain and that there is more than one Lannister who poses a threat to the cub. I don't think that this is the team I have to support," Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders.

"I did questionable things, too," Jaime argues.

More than she'd ever know.

"But you do the right things now. They continue to make foul choices – and take pleasure in them, or so it appears," Brienne replies with the kind of certainty Jaime envies her for, the kind of certainty that he is a good man after all.

"So what? Past mistakes don't matter?" Jaime asks.

"Of course they matter. I suppose what makes you not the worst Lannister is that you don't spin conspiracies all the while. There are too many people whispering around here," Brienne exhales.

"I can only agree to that. Why not shout and sing the whole while, huh?" Jaime chuckles.

"If you dare sing now, be sure I will hit you across the head," she warns him.

"What? I am a good singer," Jaime insists. In fact, he hates singing, but the wench doesn't have to know for as long as it works for him as a tease.

"And I don't care," she replies with a roll of her eyes.

"I thought you liked songs," Jaime argues.

"I _know_ a lot of songs, because of the women my Father… was with…," she corrects him with a small frown creeping up her lips.

She usually avoids these topics, but then again, now that she knows Jaime, she is certain that what she tells him will stay between the two.

"The only thing you dared to take from them as a gift, I reckon?" he grimaces.

"They made my Father happy for a while, so I didn't give much on it," Brienne shrugs.

"Didn't you ever feel bad about the matter? I mean… because of your Mother and all?" Jaime asks cautiously.

He honestly thought she would gnarl now, bare her teeth, and narrow her sapphire eyes to small slits. Yet, looking at her now reveals her shoulders to be not more tensed than they are anyways, and her face surprisingly calm.

"Why should I? She died when I was still too young to even remember her face. And I don't really understand why people say that someone stains a dead person's legacy in that way. I always reckoned my Mother wanted my Father happy. If they make him happy for a given while, who am I to judge him for it?" Brienne says.

"I actually thought you'd be more of the judgmental type in that regard," Jaime puckers his lips.

And it's plainly obvious that serving one's oath doesn't end with death in the wench's view. She'd sit and protect both Renly's and Catelyn's graves if she had a chance to. At some point he imagined Brienne always cursing the women's names, if in secret, feeling deeply offended for them making her father break his oath to his now dead wife.

"Then you got me wrong, as it appears. Why should I say that my Father should stay alone for the rest of his life because she went before him? When he is with them, he is happy, he enjoys himself, naturally… and don't you dare give me a dirty look now. I just mean to say that he forgets the pain of her demise for a while, so who am I to deny him that?" Brienne argues.

Jaime can't help but frown once more. She loves her father, that is obvious. That is the kind of familial love he never felt from his father, by contrast, though.

"Hm, when my Father took himself a whore and I knew about it, I was just pretty much ignorant of it," Jaime admits pensively.

"Because it doesn't matter," she agrees.

"You are the one to ponder on keeping one's oaths. Now you get me confused," Jaime mewls mockingly.

"What's the vow one speaks in marriage? _In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words_ – and then they say: _Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days_ ," Brienne recites, earning Jaime goosebumps.

Her voice really holds some kind of magic.

"And there we have it, bound for eternity," he says with a grin to get rid of the hairs standing upright on his forearms.

"My Father is still my Mother's and she is still his, in my understanding, for as long as he doesn't make the same vow to another person. It doesn't say that you have to spend your days in isolation. It doesn't say that you must be unhappy from the day forward that the other one passes away. While I can't say that I am by any means pleased to see these other women around Tarth, because I don't like them for the most part, I'd be the last one to remind my Father of his oaths to my Mother, for as long as he keeps true and doesn't vow again," Brienne replies.

"So marrying again is breaking one's oath," Jaime chews on his lower lip.

"You vow once. At least if you care about that person in all earnest. We both know that political marriages are not uncommon, in fact, we almost had one ourselves," Brienne snorts.

"True, so, if they mean it, you vow once and never again. If you do, you break it?" Jaime asks.

And there we have it again. Marriage really seems to be something merely political to Brienne, at least for as long as it is about herself.

"Yes," she replies simply.

"We both already try to live by more than one oath, though," Jaime goes on questioning. "I mean, I have stated my opinion about the matter before, in a muddy pen, I must admit, but... I don't think I've ever asked you. So? How would you explain that?"

Because he still thinks there are just too many oaths in the world for a single person to keep. Vows conflict, push you into impossible decisions.

"The vows we have refer to different things. You can have many vows, but you can't or shan't vow _such_ a thing to two people at a time. Do you really have no clue how vows work?" she makes a face.

"You ask a man you say has no honour... and who tends to agree," Jaime argues. "As I already said: Even if vows refer to different things, they can still conflict. Too many vows are about as corruptive as is money... and wine... anything fun, thinking about it."

"My father always says that too much of anything is not good," Brienne grimaces.

"So... vow only a little?" Jaime grimaces.

"I don't say I agree with my father," she replies.

"Then what do you think?" he grimaces. "What would Brienne of Tarth do if two of her vows conflicted, two vows referring to different things?"

"If possible, I'd try to do them one after the other, as I do with my revenge on Stannis, and if that is impossible...," Brienne cranes her neck.

"Ah, struggling already aren't we?" Jaime replies, a little amused as he can see her thoughts rising higher and higher above her head.

"Well, a while back I believed that you could and had to keep all your vows at any times," Brienne admits.

"And that is changed now?" Jaime grimaces. "What managed to shatter Brienne of Tarth's devotion for her oaths?"

"You," she replies simply. "With slaying the King... The equation is not as easy as I had thought, or hoped... I reckon that in these situations we have to make a choice, and do our best to choose the lesser evil."

"And killing the King was?" Jaime asks, keeping his voice light, though he has to try hard to keep the tremor out of his voice. "The official version might beg to differ."

"Your version tells me that it has been the lesser evil. It would have been one Mad King against many innocent lives. A King who demands so many lives for nothing is no good King, and that makes the vow to him not good either, at least I see it so now," Brienne replies bluntly. "So I suppose that the best we can do in these special situations is to choose the lesser evil, which promises more protection. To do what is... more right."

"My, my, I think there's hardly anyone who gives oaths that much consideration. People usually just stick to them the best they can," Jaime shrugs.

" _You_ had to ask," she huffs.

"True again," Jaime exhales, leaning his head back.

Maybe he can.

If he just said it now.

She seems to be so much more forgiving than what meets the eye.

So maybe if he just let it out into the world now, she would…

"… Brienne?" he begins, puckering his lips.

"Yes?" she looks at him.

"There is something I wanted to talk to you about, I..," he means to say, but suddenly there is a knock on the door. Jaime lets out a grunt.

"C'mon in," Brienne calls out, unaware of what Jaime was just about to drop. A maid, a young girl with unruly hair, comes inside, "Ser Jaime?"

"What is it?" he asks, more annoyed than he intended to.

"The Queen Mother wants to see you presently," the maid says, averting her gaze.

Splendid!

"Well, then I suppose I am to see the Queen Mother. Where am I to meet her?" Jaime grimaces, getting up.

"In her private chambers, Ser," the maid says.

Double-splendid!

The one moment he thinks he finds the courage to be better than a Lannister, and the lioness calls him away before he can reveal his true colours.

"Thank you, you may be dismissed," he tells the maid, offering a small, forced smile. The girl nods before disappearing at once.

"I wonder what she wants," he exhales.

"I wonder how she knew that you were here," Brienne argues. Jaime grimaces, nervousness taking the place of anger, "I guess I will find out soon enough. I will come by later."

"Alright," she agrees. Jaime nods before he leaves the room with a grimace.

* * *

He walks down the empty and dark hallways of the Red Keep until he finds Cersei's chambers.

"You have rung?" he calls out dramatically as he comes inside.

"I wanted to talk to you," she says.

"Aren't you celebrating your victory over our little brother? I thought you'd be dancing around with wine in hand, sister," Jaime grimaces, to which Cersei rolls her eyes at him.

"Then what do you want?" he asks.

"I was wondering if the cow is alright," she then says nonchalantly. Jaime blinks furiously, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, as much as you roam around her, I couldn't help but wonder. And during the day, she slipped out into the city to see some common healer, as she has done a few times by now," Cersei explains.

"Are you spying on Brienne?" Jaime asks.

"I don't spy on anyone. I just want to know if someone leaves the Red Keep, and if so, to where," Cersei replies. "One cannot be careful enough so short before such an important event like the King's wedding."

"Well, I am glad that you are so concerned about her health, but she's had trouble with the wound she got to the neck, so she sought out a healer to have it looked at," Jaime lies swiftly.

"Is that so? Then why didn't she go to one of our healers? Since they are likelier more prestigious than some common healer who brews medicine in the back of his yard in the same bucket they gather the piss with," Cersei replies.

"Brienne doesn't trust Qyburn or Pycelle, not that I blame her. And in any case, she values her privacy, so she went to someone who would not directly report to the Queen Mother who is busy sticking her nose into her business, as it appears," Jaime retorts.

" _You_ were informed, though," Cersei says.

"I recommended the healer to her," Jaime shrugs.

"Why would you?" she frowns.

"Because she's asked me to. So I asked around. The healer's got a good reputation, and that is why I sent her to this healer rather than forcing her to see Qyburn or Pycelle," Jaime retorts.

"That still doesn't explain your apparent absence the last few days, or should I rather say your apparent presence elsewhere?" Cersei then says. Jaime bites the inside of his cheek. In fact, he found himself drawn away from her, and more drawn to Brienne in turn.

"So it's still about that? I told you before and I tell you again: If you think you have to poke me about it if we have lain or not, just forget it. I won't honour that question with an answer," Jaime narrows his eyes at her.

"Then why were you over at her chamber till morning not long ago?" she goes on.

"Why do you spy on me?" Jaime demands.

"What did you do in her chambers?" Cersei retorts.

"I won't give you that bit of satisfaction, Cersei. There is no way that I will answer that question. And in any case, you heard it, she's leaving, so could you stop being paranoid?" Jaime growls.

"And I am not sure if you aren't very disappointed about that," Cersei narrows her eyes at him.

" _Of course_ I am disappointed that she leaves. She is someone I deeply care about," Jaime replies with vehemence. "I owe her my life, don't forget that."

"Which is why you spend so much time with her," she says.

"I spend that much time with her because I enjoy her company, because she is a dear friend of mine, and yes, because we won't see each other in a long time, or so I fear, because I don't know if and how she can come to King's Landing any time soon," Jaime tells her.

"So that is all there is to it?" she asks.

"That is all," he replies.

"Somehow I don't think I believe you," Cersei hums.

"Believe whatever you want," Jaime says, gritting his teeth slightly.

"Do I have to remind you of…," she means to say, but he interrupts her harshly, "You don't have to remind me of anything."

"Have I done you any wrong or how do I deserve it that you talk to me in such a way?" she curses.

"You spied on me and a friend of mine. I think that's reason enough to talk to you in that way," Jaime retorts.

"I do that because I care about you," she argues.

" _Please_ ," Jaime exclaims sarcastically.

"I care about us. I am afraid that you will withdraw from me again, after we finally managed to find our way back together," she insists vehemently.

"Well, if you keep going with that, be sure I will withdraw even more. There is few things that get me really furious, but being spied on by the one person who should trust me and whom I should be able to trust in turn is something that gets me howling mad," Jaime growls at her.

She blinks at him.

"So, I suppose I am free to go then, so that we can close this small parade of charade," he shakes his head.

"Don't you want to stay?" she asks.

"In fact no," Jaime tells her. "I don't know who'd be watching me if I did, or who is watching Brienne while I do."

"Will you go back to the cow now?" she hisses.

"You will let me know the first occasion we see each other again anyways, won't you? So let's just see what happens," he huffs.

Cersei doesn't say anything, just turns away angrily as Jaime makes his way outside.

* * *

Jaime breathes hard, his nostrils flaring, somehow trying to get his anger and his growing worry back in check.

He licks his lips before stealing to his brother's room. Jaime knocks on the door and waits, only to hear a thud, a groan, and then small shuffling feet. A few moments later, the door opens slightly ajar, to reveal his younger brother blinking at him, his face sour, "Can't you just get lost? I was in the middle of a wonderful dream full of tits and wine until I kissed the ground because of you."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your nightly adventures, but it's urgent," Jaime tells him.

Tyrion hisses at him, "Shhht, the lady's sleeping."

He closes the door slightly, looking at his older brother still with a mixture of annoyance and tiredness, "So? Why do you interrupt me in my beauty sleep? While I know I don't need it for my stunning looks, I still like it a whole lot?"

"Cersei just had me summoned to her. She's asked about Brienne. I think she has suspicion that she is with child. She had someone follow her today when she went to see the healer about child's health," Jaime explains, chewing on his lower lip.

"It doesn't matter," Tyrion shrugs tiredly.

"What?!" Jaime gapes.

"Shhht," Tyrion hisses once more.

"What?" the older man asks in a hushed voice.

"It doesn't matter," Tyrion repeats.

"Why?" Jaime demands.

"For as long as Brienne leaves, Cersei won't take drastic steps against you or her. If Brienne got injured now, the voyage would be delayed, and Cersei wants her gone, under the premise that she considers Brienne a rival. That's why we set it up like this. Cersei wants to see Brienne leave, which is what she'll do along with us little time from now. We only have to be careful that she doesn't smell it that you are the father – and that we have to keep a close eye on her telling the news to people we don't want involved," Tyrion says, eyes halfway closed. "And even if she does, make sure no one buys it."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Jaime asks.

"What most of us do: Be in denial and tell her to stay out of your business. Let's not run around like startled chickens, alright? Even if Cersei has suspicion, she won't take drastic steps if she is smart enough," Tyrion argues. "And in fact, she's the second smartest of the Lannister children, even if on a morally questionable level."

"But she might," Jaime replies with urgency in his voice.

"And I am sure you will watch out for Lady Brienne, just in case," Tyrion exhales.

"So we don't do anything other than being especially careful," Jaime grimaces, not really satisfied with that.

"We don't do anything other than that and preparing our voyage to Tarth, right," Tyrion shrugs. "And I… will go back to sleep now, just like you should."

Jaime exhales. Tyrion sneaks back into his room without another word, leaving the Lord Commander with a sigh dying on his lips before he starts to make his way back to Brienne's chamber.

He knocks softly, waiting for her to reply, but nothing. Jaime opens the door to find her dozing, seated on the edge of the bed, facing the door, her sword resting right under her chin, fists clenching the handle, hunched over. To Jaime it's really no wonder. The last days have been strenuous on her, and Jaime can still remember back when Cersei had the children, she suffered from fatigue a lot. Because Jaime knows that Brienne wouldn't ever doze off like that if not really exhausted.

Even in her sleep does she look fierce, though he notes with a soft grin that seems soft at the same time. While he wouldn't ever let the wench know, he took a liking to watch her sleep, only for a minute or two, ever since she let him close. It's only about the minutes as she drifts off to sleep and her features just completely ease the always-present tension out of her shoulders, the corners of her mouth. She suddenly has something oddly peaceful about her, while at the same time harbouring this fierceness, if the sword under her chin was no sure sign by any means.

Jaime crouches down in front of her and carefully removes the sword, in the same motion tilting her body back so she doesn't fall over. Gladly for him, Brienne's body moves on its own thereafter as she pulls up her legs over the edge, saving him the trouble of doing the job with one hand, and rolls over so the back is to him.

Jaime gets up, torn for a moment, but before he can contemplate, he rounded the bed to lie down next to her, now face to face. He draws up his knees slightly, eyes fixed on the one good woman there is, who would never know that she can perform magic after all as she can smooth out her features at once. His eyes are fixed on her closed eyes, the ease she radiates.

He drifts off to sleep, forgetting about world's troubles for a night.


	17. Needle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyrion talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's just a short chapter and that Brienne and Jaime don't appear here, but I wanted to give those two some space, and add a few more plot elements, obviously.
> 
> I hope you'll like anyway ;)

Sansa and Tyrion are in their now shared chambers. The young woman busied herself with needlework.

It is oddly soothing for her. Well, it is likely that this is one of the few things Sansa feels certain at, one of the things she knows she can do. One of the things that really tend to bother her in King's Landing, aside the obvious torture and the way people look at her around the Red Keep, is this unmight of being unablet to do anything about her situation. She has to rely on others to fix things for her, to get her out of here, and while she dares to believe the three people who swore her allegiance in all secret, Sansa hates it that she is not of much help, not even for herself. So doing things she knows she can do is but a small source of comfort for her.

And that even though she knows that she is not the only one in danger. While she does not know Lady Brienne for long, the woman left an impression on her, to say the least. Sansa never saw such a kind of devotion, such a knight.

She has the same kind of spark Arya always had in her eyes. Perhaps that is what makes her like Lady Brienne ever the more, that she reminds her of Arya so much. While they used to fight all the while before, Sansa misses her, just as Sansa misses all of her family, but with Arya... the worst thing is that her little sister, if she is still alive by some faint chance, will always believe that she hated her for what happened to Lady, and for sticking to Joffrey when she never should have.

When Sansa pictures Lady Brienne as a younger girl, she pictures her as someone like Arya, and Sansa finds that thought strangely soothing. That faint shimmers of her family, of her sister, are still out in this world, even though she might be the only one to see them.

So Sansa wants to believe in the woman who has the same kind of fire in her eyes her sister had, just as she tries her best to have faith in the two Lannister men who mean to support her. In fact, Sansa had to revise her picture of the two drastically. Especially Lord Tyrion proved to be a true man of honour, despite what others say about him, or maybe _because_ of what people say about him. He treated her with kindness ever since he was wedded to her, something that is, so Sansa learned by now, nothing one should take for granted. He risks a lot, like they all do, to get her out of King's Landing, though he doesn't have the obligation to, though he could treat her in just another way, and Sansa honestly regrets for how she treated him in the beginning, but is in good hope that he doesn't hold it against her.

At the same time, Sansa wants to dare to believe in his older brother, and that even though she rendered it impossible before, after what he did to her family, in different ways. Be it Bran or her father. However, it is seemingly as Lord Tyrion pointed out to her: Ser Jaime means his word, and he goes very far for her to be safe. He even would have taken over Casterly Rock to know her safe, something that, so Lord Tyrion informed her in private, was anything but what Jaime wanted for his life. The younger Lannister said that Jaime always wanted to be nothing but a knight, and that despite his wrongdoings and questionable choices over the past, he still held on to those ideals. So, to think that he would have made that sarcifice for her already forced Sansa into the realisation that Ser Jaime means his words the same way Lady Brienne seems to mean them.

And Sansa believes that she already received the final affirmation for her belief the moment Lord Tyrion proposed the idea of escaping to Tarth, and Ser Jaime agreed to it, even though it was obvious that it hurt him to let go of the woman bearing his child, to know them all protected. It made Sansa realise that she apparently found the two Lannisters who mean their family principle, and that they really want to pay their debts.

Sansa chews her lip as her eyes drift over to Lord Tyrion, who is sitting at his study, eyes fixed on one particular point on the parchment in front of him for the past half an hour. In general, she noted that ever since they met up in the gardens and then walked to their room he was unnaturally quiet. While he uttered all the polite words that are expected of him, he seemed rather absent, and now he seems out of this world.

She pushes the needle into the fabric so that it isn't lost before she speaks up, "Lord Tyrion?"

He slowly turns his head in her direction, seemingly coming back from the world of parchments only just now.

"Is everything alright with you?" she asks.

Tyrion blinks, focusing his eyes on the young woman, "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you alright? You have been staring at these papers for half an hour," Sansa nods at the stack of parchments. Tyrion flashes a small smile, "I suppose I am trying too hard to come up with a solution."

"Solution to what, if you don't mind my asking?" Sansa questions.

"Well, we still have one small problem to solve when it comes to our little voyage to Tarth," Tyrion replies.

"I thought we had everything arranged?" she frowns at him.

"Almost. But a few things are still in abeyance," Tyrion says, running a hand over his face.

"Like what?" Sansa asks.

"Oh, you don't have to bother, Milady," Tyrion argues.

"But I want to. This is about me, too. It is about me achingly much in the face of also an unborn child involved. You all take risks because of me, too, so… I want to bother myself with these things. I don't say that I will be of any help, but… maybe I am after all," Sansa argues.

She wants to take action, too.

She wants to get out of that state of unmight, if only by talking and knowing all the facts.

"You see, one of my uncles had the habit to tell others what he had on mind, his plans, ideas, _everything_. While it wasn't always very entertaining for those he made sit with him, especially us children, he said it helped him think clearly. To verbalise it," she goes on, now almost uncertain again. Sansa knows that she is rather dull, and that Lord Tyrion is smarter than all of them combined, so at some point she asks herself why she tries to offer advice, but she can't help herself.

"My, my, either you are already getting wise or I am getting more foolish, Milady," Tyrion chuckles softly.

"I am wise by no means, but I try my best to learn," Sansa argues, offering a small smile. Tyrion studies her, unable to hide a small smile.

Eddard Stark truly brought forth a very special kind of children.

"Well, what I am currently thinking about is Lady Brienne's father," Tyrion exhales.

"Lord Selwyn? What is it with him?" Sansa questions.

"Well, we might still run trouble with our plans. We can't know for certain. I know that Lady Brienne wants to know her father safe, but he runs severe trouble if he supports us. If we are uncovered, sanctions might follow for him, under the premise that we take you elsewhere leading from Tarth, or take refuge there. So I ask myself how I can get some protection for the Lord of the Sapphire Isles, but I have absolutely no idea," Tyrion tells her, shaking his head with an exhausted smile.

"That is of course a problem, I see your point," Sansa nods with a grimace.

"The problem is that once we sail, we can't do anything anymore here in King's Landing. That means whatever steps need to be taken to ensure protection must be taken now. However, if we do that too much or too overtly, people might grow even more suspicious than they are anyways. Especially with Lord Selwyn, it will be difficult to get some protection for him beforehand without giving hints about our true intentions," Tyrion chews on his lower lip. "Because he wouldn't need protection for solely having us over for a visit. And that is something the Foolish King might be able to understand without someone scaffolding him."

"I fear I don't come to have a solution either," Sansa flashes a crooked grin, making Tyrion chuckle softly, "At some point I reckon I should be glad, because it is my hobbyhorse to figure out good plans."

"And that is why I think that you are going to, for sure," Sansa offers politely.

Maybe she can't figure out the plan, but she may at least support Lord Tyrion the best she can, right?

"Thank you," Tyrion nods, honestly appreciating her kind words. He is glad to see that she warmed up to him in some way, despite the circumstances of their union and all the events surrounding it.

"Maybe once you try less," she suggests.

"Maybe," Tyrion shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Or maybe just not today…"

He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, contemplating, but then his eyes fall on the needlework in Sansa's lap.

"What are you sewing, Milady, if you don't mind _my_ asking?" Tyrion asks, if only to distract him from his worries and apparent pains, stabbing deep in his joints.

"A baby sling, for Lady Brienne's and Ser Jaime's child. I thought that maybe they'd like it. It's useful, and I take them both to be more of functional people," Sansa replies with a soft smile. "I may not be of much use when it comes to the planning and the plotting, but I am good at sewing. So why not something like this, right?"

"It looks very nice already. And I am sure that Lady Brienne will love it, Milady," Tyrion winks at her.

"You don't have to flatter me. I know that she doesn't _really_ need it," Sansa chuckles softly.

"But she will love it, of that I am certain," Tyrion argues. "It comes from you, and as you say, it's useful."

"Thank you," Sansa nods with a soft smile, looking at her piece of work once more. She added some enbroidery around the edges, long swirls of blue, like water, and golden lions at each corner.

Tyrion lets out a small sigh. To think that such a sweet young woman is made the plaything of the Brat King and his mother honestly pains him. Just as it pains him how much she already lost in the short life she lived. He just hopes that he can right the wrongs done to her in some way, even if today, his mind leads away from her pains, and more to his own.

"Are you sure you're alright, Lord Tyrion?" Sansa asks again.

"I just had to say goodbye to someone," he admits, glancing out the window. "Someone we both care about…"

"Why did you?" Sansa questions, knowing whom he is referring to.

She is dull, but not blind.

"To protect her," Tyrion shrugs.

He should have done so long ago.

And he just hopes that it was not too late yet.

Just as he hopes that paying his debt to Lady Sansa will make this loss he feels deep in his aching joints worthwhile.

"… That means you managed one protection for today already. I suppose that's enough for a day," Sansa tells him in a hushed voice. Tyrion smiles faintly, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on the window.

Maybe that's enough indeed, if only for today.


	18. Un-Balanced Acts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has a moment of contemplation. 
> 
> Brienne has a moment of contemplation. 
> 
> And then someone shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, welcome back to my mad world, okay, George R.R. Martin's mad world that I just twist and turn around.
> 
> I am sorry that I took so long with the updating, but there was the JB Appreciation Week that kept me really busy... and I am trying my best to fill a gap in my story, which proved to be a lot harder than I firstly estimated. I can only repeat it: Politics are anything but my field of expertise.
> 
> I debated with myself how I want to carry on, but in the end, I decided to go with what I had originally planned for the most part. I will just go with it. I don't know if it pans out, but I want to give it a shot. I hope you won't be disappointed.
> 
> This chapter has a lot of internal monologue in it, because I really wanted to stress the internal turmoils a bit, especially to push the characters forward - and to make clear what is going through their minds.
> 
> Drama, folks.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Jaime sits on the corner of his bed, twisting the artificial hand in his real hand pensively.

Brienne suggested that if he doesn't make himself a hook or small dagger, he could at least fill it with something heavy to train his muscles. She pointed out to him that while she was still young and not as muscular – and her father didn't let her fight properly yet – she wore cuffs with pieces of lead in them to strengthen her muscles in all secret. It never ceases to amaze Jaime just how devoted that woman was seemingly since birth to fight the entire world. He hasn't known a single woman who would wear lead cuffs only to train her muscles when she wasn't allowed to train herself otherwise.

Brienne is really not just one of a kind, she is a kind Jaime has never known and can't help but admire.

The day after he was summoned by Cersei, Brienne asked him about what he wanted to tell her before the maid came in, after she cursed at him for sneaking back into her room to sleep next to her – and pushing him out of bed to underline her point, of course. And Jaime _really_ wanted to tell her, he did, because he feels as though she might… well, forgive him for it, yes, _forgive_ him, because Jaime starts to believe that maybe Cersei was more of a source of comfort than the old spark of eternal, scorching love revived. And even if it isn't, Brienne doesn't deserve it that he moves behind her back in such a way.

But once he wanted to say it, he couldn't.

Because he looked into her eyes – and into that undying hope that left him breathless, voiceless... and the words just left him once more.

Sometimes Jaime really wished that Brienne's ideals were palpable in a way, achievable, for him. Because he knows he is no good man and won't ever be, despite the fact that he would like to be someone the way Brienne seems to picture, someone who combines all those knightly virtues and pragmatically romantic ideas. Someone who can answer the demands she makes, but never speaks out loud.

But he is no good man. If at all, he is not the worst.

When he was still very young, Jaime vowed to himself that he would live a life of no regrets, that he would always stand behind each decision he'd make, and he tried his best to live up to that maxim, to act on it, but over the years this childish self-promise was hollowed out by questionable choices he just didn't call into question anymore. His new axiom became the one thing he didn't dare regret, his love to Cersei, and suddenly that was the one explanation needed to justify his actions, however vile and bad they were.

It went to the point that Jaime didn't regret pushing a young Stark boy out of a window because he threatened their love to be uncovered, and back then, to tell the truth, he _really_ didn't regret it. He found it necessary, and Jaime felt justified under the two premises of living a life of no regrets and loving Cersei.

Yet, Jaime now comes to realise that the premise of his love to Cersei consumed the second premise. His love to Cersei became a mere justification for his corruption, and it was no longer about making choices to the best of his abilities so he may say to himself that he did his best to live up to the maxim, even if that came with sacrifice and without virtue. It was suddenly only about loving Cersei, and this being reason enough for any action to be taken, without regrets.

And lately, Jaime finds himself regretting things.

He starts to regret that he never stood by his children, despite the fact that he knows it would have been impossible. He starts to regret making others the sacrifice for his forbidden love, for Cersei's and his secret. He starts to regret that he ever got back together with her after he returned to King's Landing, because he isn't sure of what this is anymore, if this is really the axiom he let rule for such an achingly long time, or just the echo of it.

And that seems to be one of the problems: While he still feels that this is the woman whom he loved so beyond reason that he gave up everything to be with her, he doesn't know what she is to him now. If this is still the kind of love that ruled out any regret.

Because there are things he doesn't regret now, and they don't revolve around Cersei at all. Saving Brienne from Locke and his men. Jumping into the bear pit to get her out of there. He doesn't regret to have Tyrion on their side. He doesn't regret to do his best to fulfil the promise he made to Catelyn Stark along with Brienne, and that he goes very far to know her and Sansa safe. He doesn't regret that they have the cub, despite the danger they are thus in, just as he doesn't regret the vow they made to it when they came here and received the horrific news of Lady Catelyn's demise during a wedding painted in red.

Just as he can't bring himself to regret that he laid with Brienne, stole her lips, held her close, watched her drift off to sleep, received her kindness, got to know what it's like to kiss without fighting for dominance, to be close without touching, to learn that not everything demands an equal payment back, that he got to see what is beneath the invisible armour she wears at almost all times.

Maybe he _should_ regret it, though, because he is no good man while she is a good woman, but he can't bring himself to it.

He can't.

And that even though he finds himself in a similar limbo to the one he swims in for Cersei's sake, or rather the feelings he cannot pinpoint for her. Can he even dare to go as far as to see something beyond care in his relationship to Brienne, when she will take off soon? When a marriage to Jaime, if only in theory, was more of an onus, a burden, a necessary evil to Brienne, or so it seemed? When he is, in the end, anything but a good man who'd deserve her? When Jaime is, in the end, a cripple, a useless one, who seemingly cannot jump out of his skin no matter how much he tries?

Before Brienne turned out pregnant, he wanted to beat her up half of the time. Jaime is still very often annoyed at her antics, her bluntness, her stubbornness, and how she can't seem to put feelings into words, which would make some things _a lot_ easier for him. And that she keeps up her armour at almost all times.

The problem is that he doesn't know who and what he is, because he doesn't know what he is to Cersei, what he is to Brienne, and what this makes him as a result.

It used to be easy. At first, he was son of Tywin, heir of Casterly Rock, and that defined him. And then he became Cersei's lover, if in secret, but that formed him, too. And then he was a knight, later on a knight of the Kingsguard, and that consumed a huge part of his life, until the Mad King beat all those ideals out of him, scorched them out with Wildfire, hollowed him out to the point that Cersei was the only one to ever fill that gaping hole within him. That was when he measured himself by her again, defined himself through her, their love.

And then Jaime lost one of the things defining him foremost, his hand, his sword hand. Jaime _was_ that hand, he meant that back when he said it to Brienne. It threw him off-balance on the inside, because he no longer knows what he is now, because this hand, this missing hand, redefined him, he was redefined by others, and even Cersei's artificial hand did little to stop this process of forging him in another way.

But ever since Brienne stomped into his life, he calls a lot more things in question, starts to question his actions again, starts to question himself again, destabilises his self-picture yet again. He finds himself ogling with her ideals, her sense of honour, reminding him of the man he used to be before politics showed him the ugly reality that those ideals are for nothing, that these oaths to Kings and Lords are for nothing, or even if they are for something, only contribute to the deconstruction of those making them to their Lords and Kings.

And for some _godforsaken_ reason Brienne doesn't seem as ugly these days, which really doesn't help his cause.

Jaime doesn't know what this is between her and him. Because it isn't what he felt for Cersei before he was taken by Robb Stark, before his life was so complicated. And _that_ was true love, right? So what is it that he now feels for Brienne, if it isn't the same sensation? He can't tell.

Jaime knows he cares for the wench, he knows he likes being around her, even though she fails at small-talk, even though she is ugly, even though she makes him feel so much darker in her presence. He likes to tease her to the point that she blushes like a young maid who received her first compliment.

But it doesn't feel like it did with Cersei, or like it feels with Cersei now. So is this love? Is this care? Is this simple attraction? Or just the result of his mental instability? Of his lack of definition? His wish to be more like a man forged out of Brienne's ideals? A laughable attempt to be a good man again?

The only thing Jaime is certain of is his love for the cub. That is the one foundation firmly set in the ground for him to step on. He loves this child. There is no limbo to that love.

If only he had just as much certainty for the rest, then he would know what to do and how to do it.

Then maybe he wouldn't have to live with so many regrets, because he would do the right things for once.

He'd live a life without limbos.

And he would finally know what and who he is again.

So maybe the best he can do is to try his best to live by his old maxim of living a life without regrets for as long as he can. Maybe it'd be best to do nothing he should regret, to become as much of a good man as he can before she sails away and Jaime has to see about how he deals with his ongoing corruption.

And maybe staying close to Brienne now will tear him out of at least one limbo, so he can use the time of her absence to crawl out of the one around Cersei's and his relationship.

Though he knows that he will have to tell Brienne before he can get to that.

And then, _maybe_ … there will be a chance for them after all, to figure it all out.

For him to find a definition.

And _just_ maybe, they will live the lives of one of the old tales, where a fisherman is constantly forced to be at sea, and only returns home once a while, and still the love to his family makes it worthwhile, since they are his home and they welcome him in it every time he returns.

Maybe it's alright to hold the cub close to him, kissing its scalp, once it is in the world, in a room of a tavern in King's Landing no one knows about, some private, secret meeting place where he can be what he couldn't be before. And _really_ just maybe, Brienne would watch on with fondness not only for the child but also for him.

However far that seems away in the face of reality.

Jaime attaches the metal hand to his stump before he gets up and leaves the room.

He wanted to see the blacksmith about the progress of the project anyways. He might just as well ask him about something to make the hand heavier.

While it won't make him more balanced, it might strengthen his other half to compensate the loss of the hand.

* * *

Brienne makes her way down the corridors of the Red Keep. While they didn't find a solution to secure her father in their plan yet, she dares to feel rather optimistic after all. Not only because she will see her home after all this time, for she missed her Father truly dearly, but also because she feels as though she will finally have a chance to stand by a promise again, after she felt like failing her oaths in such an achingly long time now.

The blonde woman still dreads that she can't act upon the vow she made to her sweet King Renly, and slay the man who hid in the nebulous shadow that took her King away from her. After Brienne was caught up in their quest to King's Landing – and the prospect of their cub – she already feared that she wouldn't get a chance to act upon any of her oaths, but now it seems that Brienne will get a chance to fulfil two of them at last, bringing Lady Sansa to safety, and with her the cub.

So yes, Brienne is rather enthusiastic about that, though that enthusiasm is obviously clouded by the fact that Jaime won't be able to come along. She wished for an alternative to be palpable, within reach. She understands that he wants to be a father for the cub. And to be parted from it is likely a pain worse than was that of the the loss of his hand.

And she heard those screams. They echo inside her head to this day, haunt her through her dreams.

However, Brienne wants to dare to believe that she can keep up the bond nevertheless, even though this might be a life that consists of traveling back and forth, of secret meetings in King's Landing, and a child that may never know what it's like to have a father by its side at all times, like she was gifted with her dear Father. However, Brienne dares to believe that even if it is a relationship that will seemingly always be a rope with loose threads in it, the few strands that do hold will hold on ever the firmer.

And in any case she believes that a child better grows up with a painful truth than with a sweet lie about its heritage being another. Truth makes people strong, and it will also make the cub strong. She grew up with the truth that she was the ugliest girl in the world, and that is why she stopped early on to try to appeal with her looks, to appeal at all, and decided to train, to take matters into her own hands, stop being a failure at being a woman and instead be successful in the arts of swords and battle axes, knighted or not.

While Brienne rather never lies at all, for that she is too bad at it, she understands that this is one of the secrets she will have to keep, about their cub, but not in front of the cub. And that makes the difference to her.

The cub will know that it is not born a Lannister but a Tarth.

The cub will know that Jaime is its father.

The cub will know that Jaime let them go to Tarth to know it protected.

The cub will know that Jaime loves it.

The cub will know the truth.

And that will make the cub strong, she will make sure of that. That is one of the things she feels capable of teaching it, because she still doesn't see herself as a kind of good mother. For that she knows too little about mothers in general. And the one mother she got to know a little better... gives her shivers up and down her spine.

"Lady Brienne?" a soft voice rings out next to her. Brienne whips her head around to see Cersei suddenly next to her. For a moment she has to try not to jump with a shudder that the woman she just thought about comes to stand in front of her.

The cub really seems to make her squishy. Normally, she would have known her walking down the same hallway the very first moment she set foot upon the stone.

"Your Grace," she nods curtly, pursing her lips.

"May I have a word with you?" Cersei asks politely.

"Of course," Brienne replies, though she would rather run away, to be honest. Cersei mostly kept away from her, for which she was thankful. And Brienne is more than afraid that she will give away information she must not, and hence risk Sansa or the cub.

She is bad at lying after all.

Where are Tyrion and Jaime when you need them?

They start to walk until they reach a place that seems to be private enough for the Queen Mother, so she asks with a small smile and soft voice, "How far gone are you, dear?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Your Grace," Brienne replies promptly, doing her best to keep the shock out of her face. Jaime warned her that she likely knows by now, but she didn't think Cersei would call her upon it.

"Lady Brienne, we can now go on pretending that you are not pregnant with what is presumably my brother's child or we might just take the facts for what they are and have actual conversation," Cersei says in her humming voice, flashing a calm smile that leaves no wrinkles on her skin.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Your Grace," Brienne repeats.

"Fine, let's go on pretending then," she huffs. "I think I have to share a small secret with you, however, from mother to mother."

"Your Grace…," Brienne means to argue, but Cersei holds up her hands, "Or from woman to… let's say _woman_ , however you want to call it now."

Brienne swallows thickly, choosing not to comment.

"It must be frightening, I know, to be with child and feel all alone. I had that, three times," she sighs. "My husband was not the type of a man who gave much on his wife, or rather his _pregnant_ wife."

"I am… sorry to hear that," Brienne brings out.

What is she trying to tell her?

Why would she share personal stories with her now?

Brienne better should have stayed around Lady Sansa and Lady Margaery despite her distaste of talking about wedding ceremonies and jewellery, which made her wander off alone in the first place.

"Oh, don't be," Cersei argues. "For I am not."

"… Why?" Brienne asks uncertainly.

"Because… their _real_ father didn't keep away, didn't let me be alone, no matter what other people said," Cersei replies.

"Real…," Brienne breathes, trying her best to keep her face a blank slate, but fails, as her face becomes a mirror, reflecting all of the things she usually keeps behind her armour.

Is it appropriate to knock out the Queen Mother by any chance?

"It seems that something connects us after all, if only through our children," Cersei goes on.

"I am not…," Brienne brings out, which only earns her a roll of his eyes. " _In any case_ , they are his, yes. Dear, you look shocked. Didn't he tell you that?"

"… I have heard the rumours elsewhere already... so... there was no need," Brienne shakes her head.

She knew that he and Cersei did what they did. She knows that he loves her, after he told Brienne back in the wood when she still had a leash on him. She knows the rumours about a lion sitting on the throne when it should be a stag, she knows that a lion loves a lioness, but Brienne knows better than to listen to rumours. Yet, she thought that if the rumour was more than a rumour, she would hear it from a lion, and not a lioness.

But then again, that is nothing she didn't expect yet. Brienne is not that blind, really, so this doesn't shock her too much. It only shocks her that Cersei tells her this in all calm, when in fact this is a dangerous truth to admit.

"Oh well, it's of course a secret he doesn't share with just _anyone_ ," Cersei shrugs.

"Why are you telling me this… Your Grace?" Brienne asks.

"Well, first of all, I know that my little secret is safe with you. After all, you wouldn't ever risk Jaime's life or his position, right?" Cersei smiles at her.

"… Of course," Brienne is bound to agree.

"And the other thing is that I care about your wellbeing," Cersei then says. Brienne's sapphire eyes almost fall out of their sockets at that sentence.

Brienne looks at her quizzically, so Cersei goes on to explain, "I want you to understand something, dear, something that you have to understand, for your own sake already."

"Understand what?" Brienne asks.

"You see, Jaime couldn't be the children's father because of the nature of our relationship, or rather, what others always saw in it," Cersei says.

Brienne just stares at her, trying to comprehend, trying to process.

She tries not to listen to what Cersei says, or rather, what the maybe-truths she delivers along with the small stabs to her are, while she also tries to focus on the truths she believed she got from Jaime.

"He accepted that role of playing their uncle because he loves me," Cersei says.

"What do you mean to tell me?" Brienne asks, managing to keep her voice strong and steady despite the tremor running deep in her bones.

She knows that Jaime loves Cersei.

She got used to the thought by now.

"I mean to warn you, dear, so that you and that small spawn of yours don't end up getting hurt. I want you to understand that you have to protect yourself and the spawn, since I am sure that this is what you want, as a mother," Cersei goes on.

And at some point, Brienne can't help but believe that she means at least one part of it, and that is that she seemingly really understands that Brienne wants and needs that child protected, despite the malice with which she delivers the pieces of advice.

"Against whom?" Brienne questions, not letting on to her emotions.

"Against your own foolishness, dear," Cersei replies.

"I beg your pardon?" Brienne blinks at her.

"Dear, do you really believe that he loves you? Jaime may love the _idea_ of what you represent to him, his sweet little chance of a child he may call his own. And I suppose that no one can blame him, really. It was hard on him, to… let the others go, in a way… So I guess it stands to reason that he ogles with this new prospect now," Cersei explains.

Brienne chews on her lower lip, the words having left her.

How does she know all this?

How can a woman she knows lies all the time deliver such truths?

"And that is why I want to warn you, dear. Because you have to put your child and yourself first, and I fear that once the child is out of you, you are just a shell to discard for him," Cersei goes on. Brienne swallows wordlessly.

"Think about it. What does he look at when he looks at you? Your… _features_ or your growing stomach alone?" Cersei then says, and Brienne really has to try hard not to cry out in shock.

Is she one of the augurs or soothsayers?

How can she know these things?

Or did Jaime make some implication that made her think about this?

Did he tell her? No, that can't be.

"I don't know… what you are talking about, Your Grace," Brienne manages to bring out the words, though they feel like tar on her tongue.

"And even if he bears affection for you, do you really think he will put either one of your first, when he had the choice to put three of his children first already, and never did?" Cersei argues, unimpressed.

Brienne just says nothing.

She can't say anything.

"But don't be too upset, dear. Or else you'll hurt the little one, and believe it or not, that is nothing I want. I know what a mother's love is and that is why I hope that you will put it before that bit of an infatuation you seemingly developed for the Lord Commander," Cersei goes on.

And all Brienne can do is stare.

"I honestly feel bad for you. I know he has this kind of influence on women. He is good-looking and charming and you are… _not_. I bet you felt pretty flattered that he chose you of all women, but in the end, he was just trying to scratch an itch until he's back with me, as he _is_ now that you were so kind to return him to me – and now he feels obliged to tend to you because you bear his child," Cersei tells her.

Brienne just looks at her, the words dying inside her head, never making it past her lips, like birds falling from the sky to perish on the ground.

"So I can only advise you to act in the child's interest, before it is too late, because if Jaime is left with a choice… let's say that he tends in a certain direction in a _long_ time," Cersei warns her, before she touches Brienne's upper arm once, giving it a faint squeeze with a sympathetic look, "I will let you think about that for a while. Have a good day, Lady Brienne."

And with that, the Queen Mother is gone.

And with that, Brienne feels as though she is gone, too.


	19. Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne talk. 
> 
> Results will not be spoilered here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!!!
> 
> Okay, so in this chapter, big revelations happen... As already mentioned in the last note - I stick to what i had originally written. I hope the issue comes out right and that I stayed in-character for the most part, if not... ugh... sorry?
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Jaime tests the cuff he got for the metal hand to make it even heavier, trying to get used to the sensation. It will surely take some time, but that's alright.

Suddenly, the door opens and Brienne simply walks inside. Jaime turns to her with a frown, tilting his head, "You know, normal people knock before they enter."

"I had an _interesting_ conversation with Your Grace," Brienne says simply as she closes the door.

"I bet," Jaime grimaces. "That had to come."

He gestures at her to take a seat. Brienne settles down, letting out a sigh as she does, trying to shake the nervousness out of her body.

And everything else.

"She knows about us," Brienne goes on.

"She's been suspicious in a while, I told you, but you shouldn't worry about it. I didn't say anything to her, which means that she can only _assume_ that we have laid together," Jaime argues.

"You said yourself that she had you called forth because she saw me heading off to the healer," Brienne insists.

"But as Tyrion says, she has no reason to do you harm because she wants you to leave," Jaime argues. "Which is what you'll do little time from now."

"She knows that I am pregnant," Brienne argues vehemently. "She said it to me, several times."

Among other things.

"For as long as you deny it, she can't prove you anything," Jaime argues.

"She already stopped our plans once," she objects.

"And she won't stop this plan because she has interest to have you and Tyrion gone. Don't worry too much, alright?" he tries to tell her in a soothing voice.

"… I am not convinced," she insists.

"Cersei is good at threatening, but very often there is nothing much behind it," Jaime assures her.

"I think there is very often something behind that. She is Queen Mother," Brienne argues. "If she wants something to be done, it will be done, I'm sure."

"She has no proof for it, Brienne," he argues.

"Do you think she needs one?" she huffs.

"She needs one if she means you any harm," he replies. "For as long as you do what I do and tell her that you don't know what she's talking about, we'll be fine."

"But she…," Brienne means to say, but Jaime interrupts her, "She just means to give you a scare, alright?"

"She managed outright. I'm not good at lying, you say that yourself," she huffs, pressing her palm against her stomach once. Jaime grimaces, "I'm sorry. I didn't think she'd go after you now. I guess I should've foreseen it. I thought I had been clear to her that she was supposed to stay out of your business."

"Well, seemingly not clear enough," she grimaces. "I don't like intrigues. I like it even less to have the Queen Mother probing me with questions with an invisible stick."

And with maybe-truths.

And actual truths.

"I'm really sorry that you were… exposed to that," Jaime tells her truthfully.

"Well, you can hardly keep her from it," she shrugs.

She studies him for a longer moment. Brienne decided for herself that this would be the last chance for him to tell her, or else she will demand the truth from him at last. Already because Cersei certainly sought her out to make just that happen.

Jaime looks at Brienne. He has to say it. Has to.

He bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating with himself before he takes his stance in front of her, "I… have to talk to you about another matter."

Brienne looks at him with an expression he can't put, but one that gives him goosebumps no less. Damn this woman for the sapphires in her eyes.

"I… already wanted to tell you… after Joffrey made your departure official, but, ugh… well, we were kindly interrupted by the Queen Mother," Jaime says, licking his lips. He searches her eyes again, but her mouth doesn't open. She doesn't speak, just looks at him, and her eyes are mute the same way.

"I… after Tyrion proposed the plan for you to leave to Tarth, I… I laid with Cersei," Jaime brings out, bowing his head slightly.

 _At last_ , she thinks to herself bitterly.

"… Alright…," is the reply he gets, though it's by no means the reply he expected.

Jaime waits for her to react, but the reactions he envisioned don't come about at all. Instead, she just keeps looking at him.

"And… one time… after we had the conversation by the terrace," Jaime adds quickly.

"And you are telling me this why _now_?" she questions. He looks at her, "I… I thought you should know and… I… I mean, it's something that I didn't… it's… I wanted to… I actually had a speech prepared, but I can't remember a single word now, which leads to me talking gibberish."

He is not used to apologising for such things.

He is not used to apologising at all, to be honest, even though Brienne is one of the few people he found himself apologising to in a long while.

"Thank the Gods. I am not in the mood for such speeches," Brienne says, her jaws not parting at all. Jaime runs a hand over his face.

"She said something similar about... the matter," Brienne adds. Jaime takes a moment to regain focus after that.

He already had a bad feeling, but that _had_ to be. By the Gods, Cersei is a woman of hate after all, but then again… Jaime knows that he is responsible for it, no matter how he twists or turns it.

He is a bad man after all. And because he is, it doesn't matter that Cersei told her before.

"I… I should have told you earlier, and definitely before she got the chance to. I am sorry that you heard it from her before you heard it from me. That's not at all what I intended," Jaime tells her truthfully. Brienne looks at him, suddenly feeling torn. Because she can hear the honesty in his voice.

"Well, it doesn't change much, does it? This is the situation, this is the now... no matter who's said it," she tries to shrug, but her shoulders just move awkwardly.

"Look, I… you are probably asking yourself why I did that…," Jaime goes on, but she interrupts him bluntly, "No."

"Huh?" he blinks at her. He expected her to demand the truth she finds so important. He expected her to question him, if not toss a stool after him.

"Can I ask you a question?" she says instead.

"Of course," he replies numbly.

"I don't care for why you laid with her. My question is… why you sought _me_ out in King's Landing, obviously after you already revived your relationship with her," Brienne replies, which forces Jaime's eyes to blink several times, "… What?"

"Why did you lay with me again? Why did you kiss me again?" she questions.

That is actually the one question he didn't see coming when he went over the possible scenarios.

Because it brings the limbo right back.

"This is a bit complicated, I fear," Jaime grimaces, running his hand over the back of his head.

Limbos are hard to explain.

If you knew what is in the chaos, you would know how to get out of it, right?

"Complicated how?" she asks bluntly.

"I… First of all I want to say that I didn't really plan on this to happen," Jaime begins. Brienne looks at him, blinking repeatedly, but then sets her jaw in a straight line, so he just goes on, "Look, I get it that you are mad at me, and you surely have good reason to. You can punch me now or whatever. Because I feel like kicking myself for it. I know I should have told you about that earlier, but I didn't… I didn't know how, to be honest. I…"

"You mean you didn't know how I would react," Brienne argues.

"You are free to react however you want," he assures her quickly, but she only shakes her head, her eyes suddenly sparking like lightning, "Just that I am not, since I bear a child. And that means I can't rage. That is the only reason why I don't bite off your nose right now."

 _That_ is more of the reaction he expected.

"Well, I hope you will not. I actually like my nose… but I guess I deserve that…Yet, believe me when I say that I am sorry and that I didn't mean to do this to hurt you… This just… it happened," Jaime brings out.

This sounded much better inside his head.

" _It happened_ ," she repeats.

It sounds much worse when she says it.

"As I said, I didn't have the intention to…," Jaime begins and she scaffolds, "Play a double-game."

"This is no game to me," Jaime replies resolutely.

"Then what is it? Why did you fuck me, again? Back when we first did it, it was another situation. We were alone in the woods. But now you are back with her, obviously, and I knew that she is your secret lady, and I accepted that, but… the problem is that you gave me the feeling that what is between us… is more than a friendship that went a bit further," Brienne replies.

For a moment she found herself foolishly believing that she was the only one he held close...

"Because it is more to me, frankly speaking," Jaime agrees.

That is the limbo, right there in front of him.

"How much?" she asks. Jaime runs his tongue over his teeth. Talking about these matters is much harder than he remembers them to. With Cersei, their love was always left unspoken, it was simply there.

But Brienne demands explanations.

She always demands the goddamn truth.

"Look, I… I think what is between us two means more to me than I… _ever_ believed was possible, I think that I… develop certain feelings for you, which proves to be frustrating for the both of us since you and I are anything but marriage material," Jaime goes on.

"You _think_ ," she repeats.

"As I said, this is complicated for many reasons," Jaime grimaces.

Because he who thinks is he who doensn't know who he is.

"For _one_ reason," she corrects him.

Cersei.

"You know that she has been the only woman I've ever been with. When I sought her out after Tyrion's suggestion, it was… I don't know, to seek comfort, because she is… what I am used to, maybe. I…," Jaime tries to explain, but Brienne intervenes, "I said I don't care for your motives regarding her. That is all but an excuse to me."

"It's not," Jaime argues.

She is the one to always demand the truth. He is trying to give it to her – and now she doesn't want to hear it?

"It is. To me it only matters that you laid with her, knowing that she was already suspicious of you and I, got close to her when we should all do our best to keep away from her, after she already destroyed one of our plans, after she spied on us, after she called me upon it only just today. To me it only matters that you laid with me even after you started your relationship with the woman you love anew. That you didn't tell me because you feared that I would react like a stupid, foolish harpy instead of a rational being…," she grits her teeth.

"I was afraid that you'd…," Jaime says in a more apologetic voice this time, but Brienne just doesn't let him. She doesn't want to hear those sweet little excuses, sweet little lies.

She is not into sweet cake, just as she isn't into lies, however sweet they may be.

"Take off with the cub because of hurt feelings of pride? Do you really think of me that low? I meant what I said. I wanted to grant you to be a father to the cub. I _meant_ it. And that is what makes me so angry. That you didn't give me a chance to prove you the opposite. You thought that I'd react in a certain way and that I would do such a thing to you in turn. That I would punish you by stealing the child from you! When you were the one who dreaded to be judged by other people, you judged me without giving me a chance either. You were no better than all the people who marked you a Kingslayer, giving you _that look_ ," she curses.

Jaime stares at her. He never thought that she would read something like this into him laying with Cersei. He thought she would just yell at him for falling into old habits, for betraying her, maybe. He even expected her to take out her sword, but now it seems like the whole world ruptures before him.

And he didn't see that coming.

Brienne really doesn't seem to care about the fact that he laid with Cersei, she just cares about how he didn't tell her the truth, that he didn't dare to tell her because it leaves her now under the impression that he kept it from her so that she doesn't take the cub away from him.

And to tell the truth, that was one of the things Jaime wasn't prepared for. He was prepared for defending himself against accusations, right accusations, of that he is sure, but he doesn't know how to right that wrong, since he didn't even perceive it as such.

He really is a bloody, lying Lannister after all.

He is a bad man, he really is.

"That's not true," is the only thing he manages to say.

"Then tell me in all earnest that you kept it from me until now _only_ because you couldn't find the words. Or just admit it already that you feared that I would react like a vengeful brat and, at worst, deny you contact to the child out of hurt feelings of pride," she demands.

"I, I didn't think about it like that," Jaime insists. "I didn't think of anything in specific."

"But in a sense you did. You feared my reaction, don't deny that," Brienne argues.

"Fine, but…," he exhales, but she is having none of it, "So I ask you once more. Why did you lay with me again? Why didn't you just stick to her?"

Because that is what she expected, deep down, prepared for, but then he sought her out, and for a moment she thought… dared to believe...

"Because things have changed between Cersei and I…," he tries another time, but this only forces Brienne to glance at the ceiling as she huffs, "Oh, so I should be glad that I profited from your problems with her?"

"Now you are twisting my words around," Jaime argues.

"Just say it already that you fucked me 'to get inside Big Brienne' one last time before she left," she growls, forcing his eyes back on him.

"That is _absolutely_ not true," Jaime insists truthfully.

"Then you wanted to fuck the woman bearing your child one last time. However you want to call it, you wanted to have everything at once," she snorts.

"Brienne, I just told you that I developed feelings for you, alright?" Jaime argues.

Didn't she hear that part?

"And you had to affirm that belief by laying with either one of us? _Several_ times with her?" she huffs.

"That's not at all like it. I didn't do this to play a game. I just…," Jaime means to say, but Brienne is suddenly so much faster with the words than she usually is, "You just don't know, I get it. Because the problem with me likely is that the feelings you think you start to develop for me are in fact just echoes of what you feel for the cub."

She felt the words bubbling deep in her stomach each time he touched it to feel the child, but seemingly not her.

And while Brienne is not so far caught up in illusions not to see that she is anything but the object of a man's desire, she never wanted to be regarded as something to toy with. She swore to herself to never feel used in that way. She laid with him because she thought that Jaime wouldn't be that kind of man, but as it appears, he is one of them after all.

And while Brienne is smart enough not to give much on the words from a Queen who is known and feared for being a perfect liar, she was apparently right about that one thing, or poked her finger right into the fear and suspicion that grew within Brienne whenever she saw Jaime's eyes drift to her midsection.

"What? No, now you are really getting me wrong, Brienne," Jaime holds up his good hand.

"I think I am getting you right at last. At first I really thought it was just you being enthusiastic about a child you may call your own, but this here proves to me that the only reason why you think you have feelings for me is that I bear your child," she argues. "That's where your eyes wander to."

"That's not true. It's not that I just started laying with you because you are pregnant. You weren't pregnant from the start," Jaime objects vehemently.

"Then why did you lay with me _here_? Or were you just trying to do a pregnant woman you feel obliged to tend to a favour by granting her one last good fuck before she went to Tarth?" Brienne questions, narrowing her eyes at him.

"That is simply not true, Brienne. You _know_ that. I guess I shouldn't have laid with either one of you ever since I came to King's Landing, not until I had myself figured out, but believe it or not, the loss of my hand threw many things out of balance for me, within me, just as the prospect of the cub does, and that I don't get to see it. Feelings aren't as easy as you seem to believe them to be. The world isn't just black and white. I thought even you agreed to that by now," Jaime argues, not knowing why his fists clench now.

"Which is why you _think_ you have feelings for me," she snorts.

She really should have known.

She should have trusted her instincts.

"Yes, that is why I think I do. And in any case, it's not that you have been very much revealing about your feelings regarding me either. For all it's worth, you seem to tolerate me at best most of the time," Jaime replies.

Why is he angry now?

"Because I don't know what I am up to with you. And this here just proves me that I am right in my predictions. I don't care if you love me or not, don't you understand? To me, _trust_ is what matters, but you didn't trust me, and _that_ is what upsets me. You didn't trust me to tell me. Because, deep down, you still regard me as some witless woman, now also squishy from a child growing within her, who will deny you what she promised not to take from you. You don't trust me to keep my oaths. So you tell me, how am I supposed to trust you in turn? How am I supposed to be at truce with you if you doubt me in my oaths?" Brienne objects, gesticulating.

"Not everything is about these vows, Brienne. This is about _feelings_ , alright? Now I am not fond talking about them either, believe me that much. I'm a goddamn man, by the Seven. But I see the need to talk about these matters, and that sometimes they outweigh an oath, yes. Those are messy business, and far more complicated than spoken words," Jaime argues.

"Do you want me to comfort you for your conflicting feelings or what's the matter?" she hisses. He can't be sincere, can he?

"I'm trying to make you understand that this is not as easy as you breed it out inside your brain. I know I have made more than one mistake with the actions I took, but frankly speaking, I never made it any secret that I am a bad man," Jaime goes on to say.

"And that is your one excuse to justify your actions? Because you are a bad man?" she huffs, unimpressed.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to stand next to a good woman? One who is so full of ideals and oaths that it makes you feel small and like a shadow? You are so virtuous beyond reason that you don't see that people don't meet your expectations because they _can't_! I am no good man. I am a Kingslayer, Queenlayer. I have murdered and hurt, for no good reason. And while I regret these things now, you seem to expect me to only make the right choices from now on. I am not as mighty as you are. Not all are so full of ideals, Brienne, because most of us already recognised by now that the world you dream of is not so, that it doesn't exist," Jaime retorts.

Why do these arguments come out in a totally different way than he had planned?

"I never said that you had to be in a certain way. I just asked you to never lie to me. Everything else is what you made up for yourself! I never asked you to change," Brienne argues, her voice rising this time.

 _He_ was the one to lament about how Cersei asked him to change.

To put on that damned, useless, golden hand.

"Yet, you made me change and you made me want to change, but I have to realise again and again that I am incapable of changing further at some point. Or maybe I just need more time, but you make it incredibly hard at times. You'd have no clue because you think you don't convince anyone. Well, tell you what, wench, you have no idea how convincing your eyes are, your honour, your kindness, all of it. And I try to be a good father to this child by letting it go and I try my best to be there for you the same way, but in the light of your sapphires, it seems to be for nothing, for as long as it's not white," Jaime tells her.

And Jaime has no clue where this comes from.

He didn't know about that part of the limbo.

"So you push the guilt over to me for the matter? I told you, I never asked you for any of this. I never did. I never asked you to leave behind the woman you love. I never asked you to show feelings for me, for we both know that we can't be held responsible for those we love," Brienne argues.

"Right, you didn't ask me for it, and still I feel that way," Jaime explains.

"You just said that you don't know what you feel for me," Brienne retorts. "And in any case, how am I responsible for that you have conflicting feelings when I never asked you for it?"

"Gods, woman! I don't say that you are _responsible_ , I am just trying to make you understand my perspective," Jaime grunts.

That he is fragmented.

That he is broken.

That he doesn't know who and what he is because he lacks a scale, or has too many to choose from.

And that this makes it impossible for him to measure anything else.

"And instead of talking to me openly about these things before, you lay with her and me," she shrugs.

"I tell you _now_ ," Jaime argues.

"After you kept it from me," she insists.

"I didn't think that Cersei would get to it before I could," he replies vehemently.

"But you had opportunity even before this day," Brienne retorts. "And still, you didn't say anything."

"I am no good man, Brienne! I never was," Jaime argues.

"I never asked you…," she means to say, but this time he interrupts her, "Just because you don't say things doesn't mean that they are left unspoken, doesn't mean that they don't exist. By the Gods!"

"Well, it was certainly not my intention," she argues.

"That's not how I mean it, and you know that," Jaime replies.

"I don't know what I am supposed to know or believe. You lied to me," she insists.

"I didn't _lie_ to you. I didn't tell you right away," he argues vehemently.

"To me, that is the same thing as lying," Brienne replies.

"And that is the thing! You always think in binaries! You leave no space for error! I didn't spin lies, didn't spin conspiracies, alright? I had no ulterior motive! I made a mistake, I am not trying to talk myself out of that responsibility, but I _didn't_ lie to you! I didn't tell you until now, and now I do. But that is the thing with you. There is just one extreme or the other, and everything that's in-between doesn't matter," Jaime growls.

He is grey, and that is why he doesn't fit into her white-black world either.

"Is that so? But the same is true for you, then," she tilts her head.

"Enlighten me! I am a man of grey morale in a long while," he snorts. "And I've never made it a secret. You've never known me any different."

"The two extremes you have are the love for your sister on the one hand and that for the cub on the other hand. You said yourself, you are certain of your love for it, and I don't doubt it. For Cersei, you would have done anything, you said. She is the person you didn't choose to love, but the woman you love nevertheless. And I occupy that space in-between for you, and believe it or not, that is no space I want to exist in," Brienne grits her teeth.

It's enough to be caught up betwixt being more of a man at heart and a woman in the physical world. She doesn't need someone else to put her in a state of in-betweenness.

"You can't put feelings like that, don't you understand? That is the problem with these bloody emotions. They are messy, they aren't black or white. People are fallible because they are! I want to be honest to you, and that is why I tell you that my feelings are clashing the same way oaths do in my view. That doesn't mean I don't care about you, though. That doesn't mean I don't mean my oath to the child. And that doesn't mean that I lied right to your face!" Jaime insists vehemently.

"That is just what it is!" she retorts stubbornly.

"Gods, why do you have to be so bull-headed?!" Jaime grunts in frustration.

"You should know by now that I am," she huffs.

"You just don't know what is going on with me, alright? And I obviously can't blame you for it. That is what I know _I_ have to figure out, but this situation is not easy for me. Cersei was everything to me. I murdered for that woman, but things are different now. She looks at me in another way. She sees me in another way, and I see her in a different light, too. I see myself I in a different light, a different shadow. And I don't know what to make of this yet," Jaime admits.

"But why do you have to drag me into that?" Brienne questions.

"Drag you into it? It's not that I _forced_ you to lay with me, let's not pretend," Jaime snorts. Brienne narrows her eyes, but chooses not to comment, instead she reformulates her question, "Why do you drag me into matters of your heart concerning her?"

"Because they concern you, too, because you stomped your way into that meagre place as well. And the other problem is that I have no clue what I am to her, what I am to you. And what I am thus in turn. I am not the only one in doubt, or am I?" Jaime argues.

"I don't think it's wise to invest such feelings into a man who only has half a heart to give, for his other half beats within his sister's chest," Brienne replies drily, not daring to meet his gaze.

" _Wise_ , see? I am not the only one who is unsure. You try to take this apart with your head or your instincts, but not with your heart, because then you'd have to realise that it's messy business after all, something you can't just sort out by thinking hard enough," Jaime says, gesticulating wildly. "Or by relying on a gut feeling alone."

"I know better, that is why. This is my way of protecting myself," she insists.

"You can't protect yourself against such conflicting feelings. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it has to hurt. Because love is not like in the fairy tales. It's bloody business, messed-up, murky, chaotic, and unforgiving," Jaime growls.

"And you really think I don't know that? I had to realise that very painfully when I was still a girl and for a fleeting moment believed that young men my Father had invited for a ball would take me away to their castles and make me their lady… until they sniggered and revealed it to be no more than a jape. I told you before, I don't trust easily. Because of the many times people promised me feelings they withdrew before I ever got a hold of them. Because I am stupid and easy-believing. Because I tend to take any token of affection for more than it is. My trust is my shield, but how am I supposed to trust you when you can't trust me, can't even trust yourself?" she demands.

Jaime looks at her, stunned.

"Since you seemingly can't help figure out the binary inside your mind, let me help you out," she then says.

"What?" he blinks at her repeatedly.

"I remove myself from the equation. Love your sister in whatever way you find proper, and love the cub, but don't bother yourself with the feelings you _think_ you have for me," Brienne holds up her hands. "Just forget them."

Then she can forget, too... _Maybe_...

"You can't just forget feelings, alright? I stand here and I tell you that I started to develop feelings for you. That doesn't just disappear," Jaime argues. "If it did, I would make them disappear, if only not to bother you with myself and this bloody state I find myself in, but our destinies are bound in more than one way by now. You can't just remove yourself from that."

"But you think that if we were to continue to lay with each other, you'd figure it out?" she snorts.

"Now you are being ridiculous," Jaime retorts. "I didn't sleep with Cersei ever since you and I laid again, because, yes, after that I realised that things changed between you and I, too. And while I don't know what this is yet, I'm by no means sleeping with the both of you to toy with either one."

"So you mean to say that you are truthful to me now, while you were truthful to her before? That is not how it works, you see?" she huffs.

"I already said that I don't try to talk myself out of the responsibility. I shouldn't have laid with you without being clear with you about Cersei and all the other things, but again, I didn't know how to tell you, because I didn't know what to tell you except for that one concrete thing, and that is that I did what I did. Because those are feelings, however frustrating that business is," Jaime tells her. "I am trying my best to be a good man, but I am no good man. And still I try. I try to make sound decisions. I try not to be as selfish as I am, but I failed. I failed, alright?"

He is simply a failure, isn't that enough?

She looks at him for a long moment, before she goes on to reply in a way too calm voice, "You are probably right. Mayybe I demanded too much by asking you to become a better man without uttering a word. I likely have too many ideals I project on you, because in my foolish mind I found you capable of them at last. You don't want to change much further, and even if you do… maybe it's as you say and those are just the boundaries of your capabilities, at the present time… or maybe I was wrong to believe that you could ever truly change."

And that stings, deep down, scorches, burns to the point that Jaime can't breathe.

What made him hold on to a future, to his ideals… was her belief in him to change, that he could change after all.

If she lost that faith in him… then he is one of the damned after all.

"Please don't say that," he begs.

Yes, pathetically, but he doesn't care. Jaime really can't care if he is reduced to a pathetic worm, begging the wench not to say that, not to mean that.

That is the one thing he can't bear.

That she looks at him in that way, even though he deserves it, because he is a bad man, but… what does it matter if he sounds like a pathetic wimp if that is what he is anyways? A crippled one no less?

He'd rather have her pity him or push him away than forcing him into the realisation that he cannot change no matter what he does, no matter what he may say to himself. Because only once Brienne says and means it… it is true.

Because she is light where he is darkness.

If she means it that he can't change, then he really can't.

Maybe it doesn't matter, as she says, because he is one of the damned anyways.

Because he is a bad man, a bad lion, struggling against so many odds that the world seems oddly out of place in turn.

"And anyways, you just said it yourself. You think that I demand too much from you, asking someone who considers himself a bad man to be a good man. I never thought that I did, but then again, I am just a naïve wench, ey?" she shrugs.

"Yes you are! Because you put up your armour again! Right at this moment! You say it's to your protection. I think you do that because you are just too damn afraid to let anyone close to you, because then you'd be confronted with the possibility, or no, _reality_ that your knightly world is not at all what it seems to be. If you think I lied by not telling you straight away, then you lie likewise," Jaime replies.

"How?" she grimaces.

"Because you use your oaths to hide and obscure the plain reality that things are complicated and that there are nuances reaching beyond the either-or. Because then you'd have to realise that lying is not always lying, or even if it is, that people lie even to those they care about because they just don't know, because they are incapable at times, struggle, are swayed. Because then you'd have to realise that your bloody, wonderful ideals don't hold strong against the unforgiving reality we live in at all times," Jaime replies, gritting his teeth. "So yes, I'm not the only one who lies."

Brienne blinks at him, not saying a thing, so Jaime goes on, anger and frustration for himself and for her long since having overtaken him, "And the same is true for how you deal with your emotions. You loved Renly from far because you knew it a safe kind of love, stealing glances at him from a distance. But matters of the heart are not easy anymore once both are close, once both are invested into the relationship, were skin to skin. Then marvelling is suddenly no longer good enough, no longer enough. Because once you keep such a someone close, you will realise his or her rough edges, the many mistakes, and no longer this perfected version you tend to keep inside your mind. Once you are really close, it gets messy and entangled and chaotic, to the point that you can only _think_ that those feelings are of a certain nature, but you'd never know because you keep your heart behind your armour, be it Renly or Catelyn or I."

And she just looks at her sapphire eyes at him, and at this moment he can't stand them, because they hold the kind of judgment he cannot take, because he doesn't know how to repent, how to pedal back.

"I told you already, we don't get to choose who we love, just like we can't choose to love or not to love, or choose to have conflicting feelings or not. The world where this is possible doesn't exist, Brienne! Your world of virtues where even not telling things right from the start is as good as a lie, where you can make decisions of your heart with your head or your gut is too tough for anyone to exist in! Where we always have a choice! Where marvelling at the person you fancy from a distance is the same as dealing with a real relationship that is marked by failure and insecurities, and not the grand idealistic monumental love, especially with me as one of the people in it!" Jaime goes on.

Did he seriously just say that?

Jaime looks up to see her staring back at him, her sapphire eyes unnaturally wide. There is no gemstone big enough to match her eyes at this second.

He said it.

Why did he say it?

Why is he that far corrupted?

Why is he just a bad man?

He realises too late the tears standing in her eyes. And it is only in that instant that he realises that he brought up the one name he usually knows he never should.

And that even though he just wanted to apologise.

And that even though he wanted to get out of the limbo somehow.

"I… I am sorry, for what I said about Renly, I…," he says, mouth still standing open.

"Don't," she shakes her head.

"But…," he means to say, but Brienne interrupts him, "You just spoke what is the truth to you. At last you speak the truth. And I told you that this is all I care about, however foolish that is in your eyes, or however much of a lie that is to you. I have my truths now, so don't make excuses with new lies."

And he is seemingly right, however much that hurts...

"Brienne, I am really sorry for this," Jaime tries again, because her love to Renly is something he knows he mustn't ever put into question.

Why did he have to say that?

Why couldn't he just let her rage at him?

Why did he fight back when he was the one to make the mistake?

Why?

Why?

 _Why_?

"You let someone into your heart once, and she won't ever move out of it again. That is the truth you can't admit to yourself just yet, and it is the truth I didn't want to see, but that is the plain truth after all," Brienne goes on.

And truth makes people strong… _right_?

"Brienne," Jaime closes his eyes.

"I got my truth now, and you will likely see it as such soon, too. I don't doubt your love for the cub, which is why I will give my best to ensure that you get to see it, because, however foolish that may be, I still dare to hold on to my outdated ideals. But I won't ever try to live the lie again that you and I are anything but two people who vowed to their child's protection," Brienne goes on. "Because I'm seemingly too stubborn and naïve to accept my place somewhere in-between, or give up on my ideals, for I have lived with them for too long. It's as you say, I can only think in binaries, and it seems that I can't change either. I can only love from far because I'm too afraid to invest, let go of my defences, and since you need someone to invest into you, you will likely find it with her soon again, or someone else, I don't care. That is not up to me to say, and not up to me to judge."

Because ideals are seemingly the same as lies.

Because ideals are seemingly the same as cheap excuses for reality not treating you kindly.

Because ideals are seemingly as much of a coward's escape as are the conspiracies other people spin.

Because she utilised oaths, or so it appears, to keep her King Renly in an unnaturally white light to marvel at him. And that is seemingly wrong, not real.

Because she uses her armour to cover up the fact that she is like Jaime, bull-headed, torn, unsure, mute and deaf when it comes to 'real' emotions. Just that in contrast to him, she can't break out of that muteness past a certain point. Can't say.

"Brienne, please, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't want to hurt you," Jaime brings out.

"What does it matter? For what do I wear my armour, huh? It's better that way. You get to forge your life however you need it, however you want to see yourself in it. And I will see how I can live in the newly found reality – and try to be less idealistic? More lie-telling, perhaps? I don't know," she shakes her head. "We'll see about that."

"That's not what I meant to say," Jaime argues.

He knows it doesn't matter what he _meant_ , but he never meant to say that to her.

He never meant for her to have her world shattered because of him.

He never meant to shatter the ideals he wanted to believe in himself.

He never meant to smash them to pieces because he found himself unable of living up to them. He didn't purposely fragment her ideals to cover up his own brokenness.

He just ended up doing it.

And he wants to take it back now, but he knows that you can't take anything back once it is in the world, or out of it. He lost a hand to that realisation.

"But in that regard you were right. I was foolish to blindly believed in my ideals and little dreams inside my head. But that's over now. I have my truth, I will deal with it," Brienne replies.

And the worst for Jaime is the defeat in her voice, not his, but hers.

"Brienne, now wait," Jaime exhales.

He doesn't care if he is in shatters.

But now _she_ is, and that is what he can't stand.

"My Lady," Jaime blurts out.

"I'm not your Lady. I'm no one's lady. I am no lady at all, we both know. I go with what you say I am good at, and that is distance," she says, pushing past him out of the room.

Jaime just continues to stare at the ground.

He is in limbo.

Because that is the place for bad men.


	20. Midnight Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Members of the Lannister clan get some unexpected visitor late at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> This is a bit of a gap-filler, but it still had to be, at least I thought it had to be. I repeat it again and again, intrigues are not my thing. I'm trying my best to keep it up with these to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll like it ;)

It's late at night when Tyrion sits at his study, lost in thoughts once again. He went over a few more papers and maps in preparation of the voyage in candlelight while Sansa is already sound asleep in the bed.

Work distracts him from his matters of the heart, to be honest. And maps prove to be especially helpful to this cause, because they give him a sense of direction. Maps are in neat order and you can travel wherever you want, for as long as it's just on parchment. His eyes dance over the names of the big cities. He stops at once with a heavy sigh, because that is where he left his heart, but he is pulled out of his melancholy at the sound of someone softly knocking on the door.

Tyrion grimaces as he makes his way up to the door and opens it slightly ajar, hoping that it won't be Jaime to bug him once more with things that should be plainly obvious, but in fact it is _not_ his older brother standing in the doorframe.

"Lady Brienne?" he frowns as he sees the tall woman standing in front of him. Tyrion studies her uncertainly.

Something is different about her, something he can't read, can't put his finger on.

"I have everything we need for the voyage. We will sail tomorrow, if you are ready," Brienne says, her voice completely flat, her face a blank slate.

"But we needed protection for your Father, still," Tyrion argues. Because that is something he still didn't figure out in all detail. And Tyrion would rather. Taking a Stark girl away from King's Landing and out of the clutches of Throne and Lannister clan is already dangerous enough for Sansa and him alone, but Lady Brienne and her family are taking a huge risk for their sake. If something goes wrong, it will fall back on them. And they might fall with it. And that is nothing Tyrion wants. He knows how precious allies are, and that this means you have to protect them to the best of your abilities.

Not to mention that he wants to know his niece or nephew safe, and by virtue its mother likewise.

"I have it now. We can just leave," Brienne replies. She hands him the written statement Tyrion identifies as his Father's writing at once, stating the conditions that they wanted to settle before they went.

"What? How…," Tyrion blinks at the slip of parchment bearing his father's signature, then back at her, then the paper again.

How did she manage what he failed to do in only just a night?

While Tyrion knows that she is smarter than she gives herself credit for, he understood early on that Brienne is not good with negotiations and intrigues. For that, this woman is far too honest, and set on the old knightly virtues and codices.

But why does she look like the world thus ended tonight?

And why is Jaime not there with her to celebrate that bit of victory? Or at least smiles at Tyrion smugly from the corner of his eye?

"I've made all necessary arrangements. You need not worry anymore," Brienne says.

"What did you do?" Tyrion asks.

"I lied," is the simple reply.

Alright, that is definitely new.

"You... lied," Tyrion repeats. "That is no smart thing to do with my Father, you know?"

"He knows that I lied. The lie is the token for our safe departure," Brienne replies. "You said that your Father likes to keep his options open. I gave him one that doesn't cost much, and gives us the needed security for our voyage to be successful."

"Are you alright?" the Lannister son questions.

"Of course, thank you," she replies politely.

"And you are sure?" Tyrion asks, because he can tell that as a lie with little effort.

"Yes. Just make sure that you and Lady Sansa are ready to sail by morn. We shouldn't waste our time here anymore," Brienne argues. "For that it is too dangerous… I wish you a good night. You should get as much rest as you can. We will sail early."

And with that she is gone again, disappears into the darkness of the corridors. Tyrion blinks, still trying to process, muttering angrily to himself, "What did you do, my foolish brother?"

He goes back inside with a grimace.

The moon disappears behind a cloud and doesn't come out again.

* * *

Earlier that evening, Tywin is in his study, roaming over papers, when there is a knock on the door.

"C'mon in," he exhales.

"Lord Tywin."

"Lady Brienne. What can I do for you?" he frowns at the tall, blonde woman, who closes the door, before she walks over to him, holding a parchment in hand she holds out to him. Tywin takes it with a grimace, "What is that?"

"A written statement by me to clarify that your son, Jaime Lannister, is not my child's father by any means," Brienne replies.

"Why is that relevant to me?" Tywin questions.

"Because I don't think it's farfetched to believe that you will try to establish Jaime as your heir again, after some time has passed. If you succeed, there might be a battle of inheritance, given that he is then to marry an honourable woman and have offspring with her to secure your lineage. Then an illegitimate heir might complicate this process. That is nothing I want and nothing you'd want, though I am willing to drag it out if you make me," Brienne warns him.

"Are you threatening me?" Tywin questions.

"No, I know I am in no position to. I am pointing out a possibility to you. I am willing to never call anyone upon it, so it doesn't fall back on your son that he broke his oath to the Kingsguard, which would become obvious then," Brienne replies. "While I understand that it doesn't pose a threat to your Empire, I don't think that this is the light you want to see your family in. A Kingslayer is already hard enough to sell. Not to mention the rumours about the nature of his and the Queen Mother's relationship, which are true, for all I know."

"Hearsay, nothing more," Tywin insists.

"I'd be the last one to think that even if I shouted it from the rooftops, it would change the world's course. The rumours are out there already. I'd just toss another stone on a pile of stones," Brienne shrugs.

"You mean to say?" Tywin studies her with a grimace.

"I am offering you this here as a double-security. You seem to be a man who likes to keep his options open. I'm willing to offer you the security for either option you want to choose in the future," she says.

Brienne knows that she is not smart.

In fact, she seems to be a bloody fool for all it matters.

She oftentimes doesn't say things because she doesn't know how.

She is often mute.

But she observes.

She listens.

Brienne listened to Tyrion talking. And he said that the Lord Hand is smart enough not to abandon an option in favour of the other if given a chance, because it might come in handy once it's time. If Tywin wants to keep his options open, _securely_ open, then she might actually have something to offer to him. And Brienne didn't have it before because her ideals forbid her to.

But ideals are lies after all. Or so she learned.

So, there is no reason to hold back anymore, is there?

"How so?" Tywin questions.

"Well, I take for granted that you will seek to establish Jaime as the Lord of Casterly Rock. With the statement of me denying his parentage, you have any chance to make a suitable match for him, so he may produce the heirs you need to secure your lineage. You won't have to bother about rumours regarding the matter, or about him breaking his oaths to the Iron Throne, because there won't be. I won't try to make it clear that this child will be born half a Lannister," Brienne explains.

"I don't see much of an advantage in that yet," Tywin shrugs his shoulders. "We can deny the child any time."

" _Yet_ , if things don't pan out the way you want them to, for whatever the reason now, you can just as well tear up that statement and claim this child half a Lannister, which means you'd have an heir by your eldest son," Brienne explains. "You keep your options open, all of them. This signature just makes sure that you have all options open to deny that child if you find it necessary, or not. I don't say that you can't do it without that statement, but it will likely make things a lot easier for you. And in any case, you bypass that I will be as mulish as I can be. I stick to my words, however foolish that is."

"Why do you offer me this?" Tywin questions.

"Because I want something in return," Brienne replies.

"Of course," Tywin chuckles softly.

"It's considerably little. I want a written contract that you will never order Lannisters or those under or next to the Lannisters to Tarth to do harm to my family, this child included. I don't wish for it to become part of family feuds. After all, it's a child of Tarth," Brienne says.

"Why would you think that I'd do such a thing?" Tywin asks calmly.

"The King ordered for the execution of many bastards. Let's just take it as a matter of precaution," Brienne replies.

"Hm, I suppose I understand your point," Tywin shrugs, now almost amused.

"Furthermore, for as long as it's not about business concerning the politics of the Seven Kingdoms, I wish for Tarth to be left out of such issues as far as that's possible. And if you can help it, make sure that Cersei and Jaime Lannister stay away from the Sapphire Isles, if not for political reasons that make their presence necessary. And if you must, I would ask you to let me know beforehand, so that I can make necessary arrangements," Brienne goes on.

"I think that this could be arranged, though I thought you were at least in favour of my son?" Tywin grimaces.

"Let's just say that I believe it's better for all of us. People could grow suspicious that he has to do with the child after all, in case you want to keep its apparent heritage hidden," Brienne shrugs. "And since a marital union between him and me won't ever come about, it would leave people under the impression that he comes to Tarth to see me, or possibly an illegitimate heir. And in any case, what would it look like if the Lord Commander travelled back and forth to Tarth? His place is here after all."

"I agree," Tywin nods slowly.

"I want all necessary security measurements to be taken for Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion, his squire, and I, so we may have a safe voyage to Tarth," Brienne goes on.

"Of course," the Lord Hand agrees.

"And I demand that my Father, Lord Selwyn of Tarth, shall be left out of business _I_ have with the Iron Throne. I don't want him to be made a token in any way. If there is something about responsibilities to the Throne on my side, it is _my_ side, and not my Father's. And if you think you have to blame my Father for anything, you will turn to me instead," Brienne goes on.

"That is understandable," he nods.

"So you see, you don't have to sacrifice much, and all that I demand is in your interest, or considerably little. I just want to return home, Lord Hand. So it'd be most kind of you if you granted me that much security," she says.

Tywin puckers his lips, contemplating, while Brienne tries her best to appear strong and... convincing.

"If you fulfil your part and sign this contract – I shall sign my part," Brienne tells him, pointing at the slip of parchment. Tywin contemplates for another moment before he picks up the feather and starts to scribble his signature underneath the written words, "I start to understand what my son sees in you."

"He sees nothing in me, Lord Hand. I am just a woman who seeks to protect what she holds dear," Brienne argues.

She is something in-between.

And soon, something away.

Once he slides the parchment over to her, she signs it as well, her moves fast but determined.

"I actually find it a pity that you didn't join the family," Tywin says, folding his hands under his chin. Brienne slides the parchment back over to him, looking up, "Well, that's how fortune plays at times. We won't ever know for what it's worth. I wish you a good night, Lord Hand. And... since we likely won't see each other any time soon, goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lady Brienne."

She nods curtly before she leaves and closes the door behind her.

"Goodbye... Jaime."


	21. Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship to Tarth sails at last. 
> 
> Jaime has to deal with saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thanks for sticking with me and this story!
> 
> I hope you still enjoy your stay.
> 
> And hence this chapter ;)

The next morning, Jaime has his brother ordered to his room. Once the youngest of Tywin's children comes inside, Tyrion instantly asks, "What did you say to Lady Brienne?"

"Nothing of your concern, brother," Jaime exhales.

"It is something I have to concern myself with because I am in it, like it or not. You certainly said something, or else we wouldn't be sailing today. And I still have no clue what she did to secure her father, because she apparently won't talk about the matter," Tyrion argues. "So now I would like to know what in the Seven Hells you did to screw everything up, _again_?"

"Don't, just… don't," Jaime says, biting his lower lip. Tyrion studies him. He saw his brother upset, he did, but this is a new kind of upset he cannot really put.

"Jaime," he tries in a softer voice.

"We had a fight and I said some pretty nasty things… or rather unforgivable things," Jaime admits. Tyrion is the only one he can talk to about these matters.

"Good timing," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "What did you argue about?"

"I admitted that I laid with Cersei back here, before I laid with her again," Jaime says with a grimace. Tyrion hits him in the thigh angrily.

"Ow!" the older brother cries out, but Tyrion only hits him again, "Why did you have to do that? Gods, we had it all so nicely figured out!"

"It won't pose a threat to our plans," Jaime argues, anger leaving him at once.

He deserves more than a slap to the thigh by his younger brother.

He deserves so much worse.

"I don't care about that! Why do you throw the one good thing you managed in a long time away in favour of… _her_? And now don't look at me like that, you know that I have any reason not to like her," Tyrion argues.

Gods, and here he thought that his brother finally woke up from his shadowy slumber. It all seemed to be going so well.

That is what Tyrion hates about personal problems. They are messy and unpredictable.

"What is it to you?" Jaime asks again, trying his best to hide his discomfort.

"What is it to _me_? I don't know, a possible threat to our plans? Inappropriate? Making me want to bring up my breakfast? Nothing nature ever wanted? Pick one," Tyrion retorts.

"It doesn't matter anymore, alright? She will leave, and it's probably better that way," Jaime argues.

"You just give up?" Tyrion frowns. "That is really out of character for you, brother."

"What else am I supposed to do? I betrayed her, and if there is one thing she cannot accept, then it is betrayal," Jaime shakes his head, running a hand over his face. He is tired to the point that he would like to sleep for a whole week, but he couldn't close his eyes for more than seconds, the picture of her staring at him in shock haunting him whenever he closed his eyes for too long.

"And that I brought up Renly Baratheon and her ideals didn't really help the matter," he adds. Tyrion already means to raise his hand again, but Jaime says in a low hiss, "You slap me one more time and I will knock you to the ground."

"You know, when you apologise for infidelity, you usually crawl on your knees and beg forgiveness, like a worm, instead of throwing accusations?" Tyrion snorts.

"She is not so much upset about that, that's the whole problem," Jaime exhales.

"Huh?" Tyrion makes a face.

Those two are perhaps the most confusing bunch Tyrion has ever met.

"She was enraged that I laid with _her_ , after I laid with Cersei," Jaime explains, making Tyrion frown.

He knew those two were odd, but they can't even fight like normal people, or so it seems.

"Why did you, though? I mean… with Cersei," Tyrion questions, trying to understand what devil must have possessed his brother to choose another devil when he had the choice to get himself a bit of bliss.

"If I knew, I surely wouldn't have done it. I… after you made the suggestion about going to Tarth, I… I just wanted to escape all this, I don't know," Jaime admits. "It was a moment of weakness, alright?"

"Isn't it always?" Tyrion sighs.

"It's not like I had it planned," Jaime argues.

"And for that men are gifted with a hand, even you still have one to _strangle the snake_ in case of emergency," Tyrion grunts.

"You don't understand…," Jaime means to say, but his younger brother interrupts him before he gets to it, "Oh, I _do_ understand. I know why you do these things. Cersei has always been your number one source of comfort. And after all that's happened, be it the loss of your hand or your fear of not seeing the child, which resulted in your acting like a complete arse, I may add, you were obviously in dire need of some good old coddling."

Jaime looks to the side.

"Don't look at me so tearily, you brought that upon yourself. And that even though I still honestly fail to understand what devil possessed you. Why did you go back to Cersei? Why…," Tyrion asks, but then stops himself, blinking at his older brother, "You still love her."

Jaime says nothing.

"And Brienne?" the younger man asks.

"That's what I don't know. And that is what is driving me insane. I used to be certain of my feelings. I always knew that I loved Cersei, I knew that I loved my family, but I don't know what the wench is to me, no matter how much I try to figure it out," Jaime admits, folding his hands under his chin angrily. "I care about her, _that_ I know, but the rest? Just obscurities."

"That wasn't the question, though," Tyrion grimaces.

"I know it wasn't the question, but that is the only answer I can give you," Jaime replies truthfully.

It's the only answer he could give her. That is the whole problem.

Jaime would like to have a better answer.

"Why?" the younger man asks.

"Because it really is a complicated matter. Brienne is not the kind of woman who wants to be married off. Our first attempt of marriage to secure the cub and Sansa was merely a political act to her. I wish I knew for certain what we are to each other. I only know what the child is to me. I know that I love it to the point that it hurts and that I would do anything to know it protected," Jaime tells him, his voice slightly shaking with emotion at the thought of the child.

"That is out of question. If there is someone who knows how much you want to protect that child, then it's me. I saw you glancing at my nephews and my niece from a distance with that longing look for all their lives. I know what a child not a bastard means to you. And believe me, I would dance around in relief for you finally having that if not for the situation into which it will be born, with you as a man of the Kingsguard no longer allowed to quit at all. Do you think I would begrudge you that bit of bliss? Or that I think you wouldn't give everything to protect it?" Tyrion replies.

Jaime lets out a shaky breath. He knows that his brother cares about him a great deal, he knows that he loves him as much as he loves him, but it still catches him off-guard at times.

"But that doesn't answer the question about you and Lady Brienne," Tyrion argues.

"Sadly, it doesn't," Jaime agrees.

"And you seriously told her that?" Tyrion exhales.

"I said to her that I think I have feelings for her," Jaime replies.

"Yeah, I bet that is the kind of devotion ladies want to hear. It sounds like the resolution I had when I _thought_ I could quite wine, but in the end I had to realize that I _only_ thought I could. For that we love each other too dearly," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"What? Should I lie about the matter?" Jaime argues.

"The Seven Hells yes!" Tyrion argues vehemently. "If that means that you keep with her instead of Cersei! You should have lied the hell out of you!"

"She wanted the truth. She deserved the truth. That is the truth, however hurtful it is. I don't know what it is between her and me. I don't know what I am to begin with. I guess that the only thing I can know for certain is that I am seemingly the same man I used to be, a bad man, making questionable choices at best. I didn't want to throw those accusations at Brienne, and still I did. Because I am _this_. I feel more like a bloody woman these days, talking about these things, only so that she doesn't," Jaime grunts angrily, frustrated, sadly.

"You are a changed man, of that I can assure you," Tyrion argues, making Jaime blink at him, so the younger man goes on, "You are a different man now, and for all it's worth, I think you returned a better man than you were before you were taken by Robb Stark."

"Oh, so you hated me before? That hurts my feelings," Jaime huffs, though the sarcasm comes off rather weak at the weight of his brother's words, who'd never know just how much they mean to him.

"I didn't always _like_ you back then. That is the thing. I watched you ever since I was a young boy, as I looked up to you. I saw you change in such a way that you were our dear sister's puppet, and joined the Kingsguard mostly to please her, and I surely didn't like that development, no," Tyrion tells him.

"I am a knight, alright, even if a questionable one, but back then those oaths truly mattered to me," Jaime argues, slightly feeling offended, though he doesn't really know why.

Maybe some echo of Brienne ghosting around within his body.

"I never questioned that. _That_ was you. You are a knight, but the _Kingsguard_? That was Cersei more than you. She just took over, I reckon, to make sure that you were hers alone… Of course things didn't go as they were planned, but in the end… you reunited and that is when you really changed in ways I still fail to figure… But then… you were gone for so long and when you returned, you came back changed again, but more into the man you were before, or rather a… better version," Tyrion explains.

"Missing a hand," Jaime snorts.

"Maybe missing a hand, but no longer missing a sense of what is right and wrong, and a will to redeem himself if needed," Tyrion argues.

"And all that change for nothing now… Brienne's said it, and I think she's right… people don't change, in the end," Jaime exhales.

"You did," Tyrion insists.

"Just to go back to the old game when it mattered," Jaime huffs, angry with himself, but then looks at Tyrion with a frown. "Was I really that much of an arse before?"

"You've always been an arse, like Father, like Cersei, like me. Lannisters are a bunch of arses," Tyrion shrugs. "The thing with you back then was that you had become ruthless over the years, and that is what I never saw in you, as a man who's always been so devoted to those he loved foremost."

" _Ruthless_? I? The Kingslayer?" Jaime chuckles softly.

"Since dear Aerys was such a lovable character," Tyrion snorts. "That's never really bothered me. I was always concerned about you. And because I was and am, I didn't like what Cersei made of you, and you can now complain about it all you want and tell me that I am all wrong, but that was my impression and that is my opinion. She made you another man, ruthless, denying your children, and no longer regretting things worth regret. I am not the one who always makes good choices, you know that better than anyone, but we both know that pushing the Stark boy out the window was worth regret. And years before, I never would have guessed that my brother would have been capable of such a thing, and of not regretting it at first at all."

"And you really, _honestly_ think that is changed now?" Jaime grimaces.

"I know it is. Because you came back to King's Landing with maybe your body no longer intact, but with your mind more intact again. You made decisions in interest of people other than Cersei, for good reasons, and we both know what the sacrifice is that you let Lady Brienne and the cub go to Tarth for now," Tyrion replies promptly. "Now I don't know what it is that led to your change exactly. Maybe the loss of your hand is still putting you through some stage of transgression or made you more humble, I don't know, and that is not up to me to say, but I have watched you for all my life, Jaime, I can only repeat it. If someone will recognise a change within you, then it is me."

"Brienne begs to differ," Jaime snorts.

"She doesn't know you the way I do. She only saw you once you were in a changing process already. She witnessed you going through that process. So, naturally, to her, you seem the same as you used to, because she is so used to you being in transgression. I, by contrast, saw the you before. And then after. And those are two different men. You are no longer the same man freshly marked Kingslayer," Tyrion argues. "And I think she likely said it more out of hurt feelings than as a real accusation. In a fight, you always say things you don't mean, if only to win. Because we always want to win, even if we lose the much more important war thus. Because we want to be right all the time."

"Well, all my change is for nothing, because I am still a bad man," Jaime grimaces. "This just proves it. When left with a choice, I make not only one wrong call but many."

"Though I am wondering. If she doesn't really begrudge you for sleeping with Cersei, which I still fail to understand, but fine, Lady Brienne seems to be quite another breed of woman, and she doesn't begrudge you for not knowing what she is to you… then why did I see you mooch up and down in front of her chambers early this morn?" Tyrion questions. "What did you say to her that pushed her into whatever actions she undertook, only to now treat all with silence?"

"I called the one thing into doubt that means the world to her," Jaime shrugs. "Her oaths. It's not that I questioned her devotion for them. That's a lost cause. There is not a single person who means her oaths more than Brienne of Tarth, but I questioned how she exploits oaths as means to protect herself from exactly such ambiguous feelings, like lies… and then went on about Renly Baratheon… which _really_ proved to be fatal."

Once he went over the conversation, lying on his back in bed, did it really dawn on Jaime what this seemingly little thing explodes into when seen from Brienne's perspective. The horrifying thing about their fight wasn't that he slept with Cersei, maybe it wasn't even that he laid with Brienne, it was really that he gave in to the temptation to fire such a thing at her, to somehow get out of the limbo, or maybe try to make her join his limbo so that he feels less like the only one uncertain about his feelings.

"Why did you?" Tyrion asks in a small voice.

"Because I am a bullhead and an idiot and because I don't like to yield," Jaime shrugs. "Maybe I'm deep down a bloody knight after all, however much was done to corrupt my sense of honour over the years."

"You are in fact a bloody, bull-headed knight," Tyrion shrugs. "That is completely out of question. And while I don't mean to call your turmoil into question, I can't help but wonder. I mean, you laid with her, you share a close connection, you two get along…"

"We fight," Jaime corrects him.

"Like an old married couple," Tyrion snorts. "In any case, I really thought that you were the one most sure about your feelings for her. I reckoned she'd be the only one uncertain about her feelings, for that she seems too new to showing emotions in general. I saw her interact with Sansa and Margaery about the child the other day. It was like watching a tall toddler, blushing furiously at compliments and trying to say things properly, even though it thus sounded rehearsed."

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Jaime snorts.

"I didn't think _you_ were in doubt," Tyrion grimaces.

Or else he would have knocked some sense into his brother already.

"Yeah, well, then you thought wrong," Jaime exhales. "If you are so used to something, to another person's love, against all possible odds there are, then… this leaves you in doubt about anything taking its place. I don't know. There are many things that leave me in doubt. And I honestly thought that Brienne would be the one to get that, because she is like me in that regard, or so I understood."

"Or don't you just want it to admit to yourself?" Tyrion grimaces. "That you actually made a choice already?"

"If it were so, I would have told her, believe me that. Or else I wouldn't have peeked inside her room this morn, only to barely dodge a dagger flying my way. Only the Gods know where the wench learned to toss a knife like that, I have to give her that much," Jaime grunts, thinking back to the moment early this morn when he came to her like a goddamn kicked dog and wanted to talk with her reasonably, only to shut the door as the dagger rammed into the wood.

"So how do you intend to figure out the conflicts inside your mind?" Tyrion asks, to which Jaime just shrugs his shoulders.

"You two are really alike. When it's important, you seem to have bitten off your tongue," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," Jaime exhales.

"So what are you going to do now?" the younger brother asks instead. "Now that we are about to sail?"

"I selfishly hope that she will hold on to her oaths regardless of what I did to them and that I will see the cub despite the fact that I threw it all away when it comes to its mother," Jaime shrugs.

He is actually pretty confident about Brienne trying it, if only to act in the cub's interest.

"And stay with Cersei?" Tyrion makes a face, to which Jaime shakes his head, "I didn't in a while. I foolishly thought that maybe staying away from her would undo it in a way, but… well, I was seemingly too late in my realisations. But in the end, that really doesn't matter, because I wasn't honest with Brienne. I broke her trust, that is the thing, and the problem is that I really thought it was just about that. It was about the truth the whole time."

The truths he couldn't give.

The truths still dancing around his head, making him dizzy, leaving him in limbo.

"Gods, you are frustrating. It's enough that our lives are so screwed up. Why do you have to screw it up even more?" Tyrion grunts.

"Because I am no good man, it's just that simple," Jaime sighs. Tyrion looks at him with a sad grimace. Jaime gets up from his seat, needing to move in some way, "In any case… I would ask you for a favour."

"What is it?" Tyrion asks. He wondered anyways why Jaime had him summoned. Normally, the older brother keeps such feelings to himself, unless Tyrion calls him upon them.

"I want you to give this to Brienne," Jaime says, pointing at a package neatly and securely packed up. Tyrion cranes his neck, recognising the shape even though he can't directly see the item underneath.

"Don't you want to give that to her yourself? I mean…," Tyrion grimaces, but Jaime just shakes his head, "It won't make her change her mind. And I want her to get it, but I fear that the wench will deny it, if only to defy me. She needs protection. So say it comes from you or whatever. You are smart, I'm sure you will come up with something. Just make sure she gets it."

"Don't you think you can talk to her another time?" Tyrion tries once more.

"I told you, I tried, but it's done and over, I think. I screwed it up beyond repair, and it doesn't matter that I regret it now. Just do me the favour and make sure that she gets this. Can you do that for me?" Jaime looks at him solemnly.

"Of course," Tyrion nods.

"I think you should better finish up the last preparations. You are about to leave soon," Jaime tells him.

Tyrion nods, "I will have Podrick pick it up."

"Alright," Jaime agrees. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry for you," Tyrion says as he slips out the door. "I hoped for things to pan out for all of us, but… Just so that you know, I still believe in people to change, and that they can change situations thus."

With that he leaves Jaime standing in his room, glancing out the small window.

* * *

Hence, later this morning, Sansa and Tyrion glance at the ship now to take them to Tarth. Jaime stands next to them. Tywin keeps Joffrey busy with some business of the Small Council. Tyrion reckoned that this has to do with what Brienne did to get Lord Selwyn's safety net. And Cersei said her goodbye briefly and with a sneer to Tyrion. It appears that Joffrey really didn't tell anyone about the maybe-pregnancy on Sansa's side, which actually helps their cause at this moment, which means that they have that bit privacy for themselves.

"Thank you for your support another time, Ser Jaime," Sansa tells the knight, squeezing his hand once, offering a small smile. Lord Tyrion informed her that he and Lady Brienne had a fight, a bad one no less. And Sansa feels more than bad about it, despite his reassurance that it has nothing to do with her, but she reckons that it revolves around her for as long as Lady Brienne sails with her, which takes away any chance from the two to resolve the dispute presently, something that feels way too familiar to how she left with her sister.

"It's nothing," he assures her.

"It isn't," she argues. Jaime suddenly frowns as he feels her pressing something into his palm. He inspects the soft object to identify it as a small stuffed animal, with the outline of a lion in profile. "Oh, I… thank you."

" _That_ is nothing," she argues. "In any case… I wish you all the best. I hope you will be safe, Ser Jaime."

"The same for you, Lady Sansa," he replies.

"Goodbye," she says. Jaime gives a tight nod as Sansa turns around and disappears on-board.

"Well, this might be a goodbye in a longer while, I still fear," Tyrion grimaces. Jaime bends down to embrace him. "Don't get killed."

"You better don't either, brother," Jaime grunts against his shoulder.

"I suppose I should get on-board, too," Tyrion then says. "I think you two need a moment."

He nods behind him where Brienne approaches with fast strides. Jaime gives a nod as his dwarfish brother disappears on-board as well. Brienne just means to walk past him, but he calls out to her, "Brienne, please."

She stops, turns around slowly, looks at him, but doesn't say anything.

"I am… I am just sorry," he mutters. "And I mean that in all earnest."

Because he does, he really does.

"Alright," she replies. "I suppose we both said things that came out of the heat of the moment… but... it doesn't matter. What was done was done. We made choices, now we have to live with the consequences. Your place is here. Mine is in Tarth. But be sure that I will protect the cub and Lady Sansa no matter the costs."

"Yeah," Jaime nods tightly, pressing the small lion in his palm.

"And you can be certain that the cub will know, no matter what is between us. I stick to the truth, however foolish that may be," she shrugs, and the defeat is right back in her eyes, rendering Jaime speechless.

Because that is thanks to him.

"Goodbye, Jaime," she says.

"Goodbye, Brienne," Jaime replies numbly. With that she gets on-board the ship.

Disappears.

Jaime stays until the ship disappeared beyond the horizon, twisting the small stuffed animal in his palm.


	22. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime receives some startling news from Tywin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around and kudoing and commenting despite the achy-achy hearts. 
> 
> I hereby apologize for all cardiac issues I apparently seem to cause with this fanfic. I am getting told time and time again that people will send me their doctor's bills from now on for causing their heart conditions. And that even though I don't have the money for it ;)
> 
> And I fear I will add more folks to the list... because drama, drama everywhere.
> 
> I can't repeat it often enough, I am not good with political intrigues, so I hope this pans out halfway plausibly... if not, I don't know, sing a song inside your head or so. I went with what I had originally planned, as I said. I'm taking the risk...
> 
> So, ugh, off to more drama. For those who have heart conditions, please go on with caution. I can't afford to pay even more bills.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy anyway ;)

Jaime finds himself ghosting through the corridors of the Red Keep, his head heavy with so many weighty emotions that he feels like collapsing underneath them.

Joffrey is dead, killed at his own wedding, poisoned at his own wedding, choked at his own wedding, by invisible hands, or rather those of venom.

And he failed to protect him.

They are still searching for a culprit. Many rumours roam around like flies do over a cadaver. The fact that there is no available culprit seems to bring the houses to more disarray than does a King's death by nature.

Some blame the Martells, claiming that they sought revenge on the Lannisters after Oberyn Martell declared often enough that he wanted to see the Mountain and the Lannisters suffer for what they did to his family. After all, he is a man familiar with the arts of poison.

Others believe that the Tyrells have their hands in this somehow. That they only unified with the Lannister clan to push them off the throne eventually, so that the thorns, filled with poison, shall bring lions and stags alike to eternal rest.

Some believe it to be an attack by men under Stannis Baratheon, who, after a failed siege, retreated to the old, vicious game of poisoning Kings to kick them off their thrones.

Some think the Boltons have to do with it, already due to the fact that you shouldn't trust people who have a flayed man for a banner.

Some believe in the whispers that men of the North, people who still hold bonds to the Starks, sneaked their way past the ranks and close enough to the throne to poison Joffrey before disappearing back into the snowy woods up North.

Some very foolish rumours revolve around Tywin himself having had his hands in this, to remove a King he found unable of rule, and replace him with a more malleable substitute with young Tommen.

Some even more outrageous voices whisper faintly about the ghosts of the Stark clan haunting this wedding, bringing judgment to those responsible for their cut throats and cut off heads.

Some also foolish people think that an Imp worked his magic from far.

Some talk about Pyke's kraken.

Some about a young woman from across the sea who is on the march towards the Iron Throne, with three dragons in tow.

Some spin the tale of an unknown hero from the commoners who rose to his feet and poisoned a drink to bring down the young man who forced them on their knees and had nothing for them other than pain and fear.

Jaime knows better than to theorise, just like he knows better than to believe in ghost tales or his Father risking so much on a day that was meant as pure prestige for an upset country. If his Father, by any chance, had wanted Joffrey executed, he would have done that in all secret. That much is for sure.

And whatever theory one may tend to, it doesn't change anything about the circumstance that Joffrey Baratheon is dead now.

Just like it is a matter of fact that it tears Cersei to bits and pieces. He was their first one, and the thing is that if something is so unlovable, like Joffrey was, someone like his mother had to love him ever the more, to the point of the impossible, if not beyond it, making his loss even harder for her.

You can say about Cersei what you want, but she _does_ care about her children and would move the Seven Hells to know them safe.

At some point Jaime considered to offer her solace. In the Sept, standing next to Joffrey's body, he wanted to, he thought that maybe that the pain would somehow unite them, but it it didn't. Jaime managed no more than holding her by the shoulder once, because no matter what she did or said, Cersei is his sister, his family, and she hurts, so Jaime offered that bit of comfort, but just that kind of comfort.

For a moment he thought that this would be the moment the spark of their love would be revived, that he would feel what he felt for her until he was taken by Robb Stark.

But nothing came.

He left the Sept wordlessly while she went on weeping.

However, at some point Jaime should feel sadder than he is, or rather, he should be sad because of Joffrey's loss, because it tears Cersei apart, but Jaime can only think about what took off from the port little while ago, and from which he didn't hear a word since.

Brienne, Sansa, Pod, and Tyrion should long since have arrived in Tarth. While Jaime didn't expect a letter from Brienne, he certainly hoped that Tyrion would send a raven, if only to let him know that they are alright. Since he received no such letter yet, Jaime is in the constant fear, yes, _fear_ that they are not alright and that this is why he doesn't receive any messages to calm his nerves.

At some point he would just like to fetch a ship and disappear from this place.

In fact, there is no emotional attachment to hold him here in King's Landing anymore, so he had to realise.

As though he was cut loose from the threads he thought were holding him upright, moving him like a puppet.

There is just the attachment of making sure that Brienne, the cub, and the others are safe. That is what keeps him here, and keeps him here upright.

If not for this, Jaime would rather live the life of a vagabond than go on with this life here.

It's just so much pain lately.

"Ser Jaime?" a voice calls out, bringing Jaime back to the corridors he walks through and the freckled face of a servant, looking at him with huge eyes.

"What is it?" he asks.

"The Lord Hand seeks to have a word with you in his study, Ser," the boy says nervously.

"Thank you," Jaime nods curtly. The servant disappears at once. Jaime grimaces. He would rather not talk to Tywin, but he knows better than to refuse. So he makes his way to his Father's room, knocks, and directly walks inside. He doesn't really care about breaking with etiquette.

He doesn't care about anything much anymore these days.

"You wanted to see me?" Jaime exhales as he closes the door.

"Yes, have a seat," Tywin says, gesturing to the stool opposite his.

"If you ask me to take a seat, it's not for good," Jaime grimaces, slowly settling down on the wooden chair.

"I will be direct: It seems that an incident happened. The news reached us only this morning," Tywin says, folding his hands under his chin.

"You mean Joffrey's death? I have heard about that. In fact, I was present," Jaime snorts.

"On the sea," Tywin goes on, and for a moment, Jaime feels like drowning, because he cannot breathe, "You mean…"

"For all we know, Tyrion and Lady Sansa were either abducted or killed. At least they are nowhere to be found at this moment," his father goes on.

"Oh, by the Gods," Jaime gapes, but then another thought enters his mind and pulls him beneath the water. "And Brienne? What about Brienne?"

What about the cub?

Please no, not two children, his brother and his wife, and _she_ of all people.

Please no.

Just no.

"She is in a small settlement by the shore of Massey's Hook," his father then says, and at once Jaime can breathe again, barely so, but still.

She lives.

She lives.

She lives.

"I will be on the next ship to get to her," he says, licking his lips, muscles as tight as a longbow's string.

"You will not," his father says, making Jaime gape, "What? Why?"

"She is considered one of the main suspects for having taken part in the conspiracy," Tywin shrugs, forcing Jaime to frown, " _Conspiracy_?"

"Our King dies, and soon thereafter we get a message stating that your brother and his wife disappeared – leaving only one woman alive. She was one of the main protagonists pushing for the voyage. So it can assumed that she is part of a huger network – and that her job was to help get Lady Sansa on the ship, likely to either return her to the Stark sympathisers or men belonging to Stannis Baratheon, or whoever else," Tywin shrugs, his voice even, uninterested, cold.

"She'd rather kill Stannis Baratheon with a spoon than help him. He killed Renly. She'd never work for the man who's slain him," Jaime insists.

Is his Father serious?

"Oh _yes_ , the tale of the shadow that killed Renly Baratheon. As far as the facts go, it seems more likely that she is a Kingslayer like you, or well, he wasn't King, but you know how I mean it. If she has to do with Joffrey's murder by any chance, she makes even more of a Kingslayer than you," Tywin shrugs with nonchalance.

"Brienne didn't kill Renly. She loved that man unconditionally. She would have died for that man any minute," Jaime argues vehemently.

"Just that she didn't," Tywin huffs.

"Nonsense," Jaime shakes his head.

All of this is.

"It may also be Roose Bolton, for all we know," Tywin goes on.

"You and the Boltons collaborate, you said. He killed the Starks for you. You made him Warden of the North. Why would he move against the Throne?" Jaime makes a face. "And in any case, Brienne wouldn't want to plot with the man who left her at the hands of Locke, the bastard."

"Because the rumour goes about that Stannis Baratheon has intentions to move up North. If it comes to a showdown, Roose Bolton surely knows that I only left him with a title, but nothing more," Tywin shrugs.

"And why did you?" his son makes a face.

"I'm not stupid enough to feed wolves in the belief to tame them. Just like I don't trust a wolf that's already bitten another wolf's head off. I rather leave him toothless up there and let him do as he pleases," his father explains.

"And what would he have from Joff's murder?" Jaime frowns.

"We don't know, we can't know. But we do know that Lady Sansa is a lantern that would shine a lot brighter up North. With Tyrion gone, or so it seems, a sudden reappearance of the last princess of Winterfell might unite the North so they may strike against us, which comes at a time where all houses are tearing apart about who may have killed the King," the Lord Hand says.

"That's all hearsay at best," Jaime shakes his head. "And I can only repeat it: We've met this man, and be sure that he and Brienne did not leave on the best terms. To be precise, he left her in a bear pit."

"You said that this was one of his soldiers. Bolton just gave the order to give her to him as a reward," Tywin argues. "While I personally find it unlikely, she may have collaborated with him before, as a sworn sword to Catelyn Stark. This whole thing may have been a farce, you see?"

"The bear was _pretty_ real, believe me that much," Jaime growls, but his father is unimpressed, "It doesn't matter with whom she plotted at this point, but we have to suspect that she removed Lady Sansa from King's Landing for such reasons."

"Why would Brienne be stranded by the shore of Massey's Hook if she was part of the conspiracy in the North, or the Gods forbid, Stannis Baratheon's? She'd be _with_ them. That is ridiculous, just as the accusation that Brienne is part of a conspiracy in the first place. Because Brienne wouldn't ever do such a thing," Jaime insists.

"She may just as well have been no more than a pawn and they disposed of her. We don't know if she stranded there, we only know that she is in Massey's Hook. Perhaps she tried to escape to there," Tywin shrugs.

"This makes no sense," Jaime shakes his head.

"She said she is a sworn sword to Catelyn Stark. No matter what she may have told me in the beginning, it's not unlikely that she holds ties to the Starks or other people in the North. And even if not, it may still be Stannis Baratheon, and already the collaboration with the Starks was in interest of _this_ man," Tywin goes on, unimpressed.

"That is simply not true," Jaime says forcefully.

"Think about it: She comes to King's Landing, earns your and Sansa's trust. She then makes it happen to have the Stark girl sent away from us. Others take her – and then something led to her being stranded, be it that her ship broke down, that the others betrayed her, or that they left her as bait. In either case, she might well have two Kings' bloods on her hands," Tywin concludes.

"She has nothing to do with Joffrey's murder. She wasn't there, you know that as well as I do," Jaime says, trying hard not to shriek.

"I don't say that she murdered Joffrey, I say that it may be possible that she took part in making it happen," Tywin argues.

Jaime narrows his eyes at him, "You tend to forget that she is with child. Why would she risk her and the child's life for such a thing?"

"I don't know her well enough to place judgment," Tywin says.

"Seemingly well enough to judge her, though," Jaime huffs.

"As things have developed now, one may even doubt that she is with child," Tywin then says, forcing Jaime's head back underwater, " _What_?!"

"Well, she didn't show until she took off. Maybe that _revelation_ was supposed to get your trust? We can't know that for certain. It may have been a nice bait to make sure that no one expected something to come from her, for who would blame a pregnant woman?" Tywin goes on. The hairs in Jaime's neck stand upright, just like he almost stands in sheer fury, "She is pregnant, with my child!"

"You don't know that," Tywin replies coldly.

"I felt the bump, alright? She was with child. I know it," Jaime insists – about a fact he thought he would have to hide rather than prove it.

"I don't say that she isn't," Tywin says.

"That is _just_ what you said," Jaime stares at him.

"I'm pointing out to you the assumptions _others_ make or will make, based on what is known about Brienne of Tarth and the current situation. One always has to try his best to be aware of all options, all considerations. That is the only way to prepare," Tywin lectures him.

"Brienne bears a child, my child to be exact," Jaime repeats, unimpressed.

"I don't find it unlikely. But it may just as well have been something she didn't foresee, something not planned. She may have plotted against the Lannisters and the Iron Throne long before she met you – and ended up pregnant nevertheless," Tywin says.

"You can't be sincere," Jaime shakes his head.

This is out of question.

But why is that called into question now?

"Of course it's still just in theory, but that is something a proper investigation will reveal in no time," Tywin declares.

"Brienne has no interest in politics. She hates politics. And she never lied to me, never!" Jaime repeats.

"You can't know that. No one can be trusted. How many times do I have to tell you that until you understand? The only people you can trust are the family," Tywin argues.

"And she is part of my family, by virtue of bearing my child! Despite the fact that you don't want to acknowledge that," Jaime barks.

"She is no one of the direct family line. That means she cannot be trusted," Tywin insists.

"Mother wasn't either," Jaime then says.

"Don't you dare," the other man hisses, because only the one woman he ever loved can bring out such an outbreak even in someone as cold as ice like Tywin Lannister.

"Don't _you_ dare!" Jaime mimics him.

If he doesn't get to talk about Tywin's wife that way, then so he doesn't get to talk about Brienne in that way.

Tywin breathes in a few times to calm down before he goes on, "I understand that you wish for her wellbeing, since you care about her and the child she may or may not bear. I honestly understand that, but the risk is high that she is a traitor to the Throne, and that means that we must keep a safe distance from all this – and rely on the facts."

"The _fact_ is that Brienne is no traitor. She had no reason. She would have no gain. She is stranded in Massey's Hook, likely held hostage by its people until you send for her, pregnant and alone," Jaime insists.

"Martyrs accept such a misfortune if it helps fulfil their goals," Tywin shrugs.

"This is ridiculous," Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Lady Brienne was the one to propose to go to Tarth," Tywin goes on.

"She wanted to go home," Jaime argues.

And away from him, for _good_ reason.

"It seems as though they _all_ actually wanted to travel to Tarth, despite the fact that Tyrion denied it so much. I have to give the dwarf that much – his acting and persuasion skills are one of a kind," Tywin argues.

"Yes, we wanted them to travel to Tarth. And that is nothing new to you, so let's drop the act. You know that we wanted to get Sansa to Tarth, away from Joffrey and Cersei," Jaime grunts.

"Rumours go about that there were secret meetings," Tywin sighs.

"There were meetings, and I took part in them. So if you want to say that they all plotted or whatever, I was a part of it as well, so you might just as well start an investigation for my sake, too," Jaime grits his teeth angrily.

"You should better keep that to yourself if you know what's good for you," Tywin warns him, to which his son only replies with a snort, "I give a damn on what's good for me."

"Jaime, she might be a traitor, now on whatever level that may be, but the possibility is not just there, it's even a high risk that she is," Tywin tries to reason with him, but Jaime doesn't care, at all, "Brienne wouldn't ever do such a thing, Father, I vouch for her!"

"You can vouch for her however you want, but our King died, and the people demand answers," Tywin argues.

"The _royals_ demand answers so they can blame someone other than themselves. The people are glad that Joff is gone," Jaime huffs.

"It doesn't matter who demands it, but answers _are_ demanded. Questions will be asked. The houses need a culprit, and once they see one, they will not let go, believe me that much. People around us turned out to be traitors. No one can be trusted," Tywin warns him.

"You can trust Brienne. And even if you don't, trust me," Jaime argues.

"You and I both know that I have any reason not to trust you. You made questionable choices, a lot of them. While none happened in spite or with the intention of causing harm to the family, your choices haven't been very smart lately," Tywin argues.

Jaime just stares at him, so the man goes on unimpressed, "In any case, there will be an investigation. I will have all necessary arrangements made to send investigators to see about Brienne of Tarth. To handle the issue with the required discretion, she will not be moved to King's Landing, however. And that is already a concession on my part."

"You are truly a Samaritan," Jaime shakes his head.

"We will gather all information to be sure what the truth is. At this point, we only have theories. The only way to rule out theories is by testing them against the facts. And those facts lie in Massey's Hook," Tywin explains.

"Then send me," Jaime insists.

"You are biased," Tywin argues.

"Send. Me," Jaime repeats.

"You have to guard your new King," Tywin replies, making Jaime laugh out loud once, "You and I both know that I am worthless as a guard for the King, so let's drop the act. Let me see about the woman bearing my child, your grandchild, alright?"

"At this point, I don't think I can say that this might be my grandchild by any means," Tywin argues, and Jaime can only blink at him yet again, "What do you mean to say?"

"She sought me out the night before they took off to the Sapphire Isles. Here, you can see for yourself, she signed a paper claiming that this is her child alone and that its father died shortly after they took their vows of marriage in all private – and that you were so kind to take care of her after his absence," Tywin says, producing a slip of parchment from his table he hands over to Jaime. He skims the page, blinking, fighting for composure, for air to breathe, "What did she demand for that in return?"

"A safe passage from the Lannister side, and that we are supposed to leave our noses out of Tarth's business. Furthermore, she asked me to leave her Father out of this, to know him protected, something that was likely also asked for to guarantee her safety, if not for the incident of being stranded. I will stick to my part of the contract, which is why the investigation will not extend to Lord Selwyn, yet anyways," Tywin replies.

"She signed that only so that you'd protect her father, but the truth is another," Jaime argues, shaking his head as he puts the parchment back on the desk.

"I don't care for what the truth is. If she is pregnant, now with your child or someone else's, then one good thing came out of it, namely that we can push the blame away from our family. You should be glad that you get out of this unscathed," Tywin shrugs.

"This is my child! And you seemingly don't care if it is killed along with her!" Jaime cries out.

And that man ponders on the family always coming first.

"We don't even know for certain if she _still_ has it, given that she ever was pregnant," Tywin then says – and that is when Jaime really feels the water above him, underneath him, next to him.

"What?"

"We received a mail from the dean of the settlement. The message declared that they found a shipwreck in the bay of Massey's Hook. That it bore the King's banner. That they found a blonde woman who claims to be Brienne of Tarth – and that she insists that Sansa and Tyrion Lannister were abducted. At no point was her condition mentioned," Tywin explains in unnatural calm.

Jaime tries his best not to just retch.

The cub might be gone.

The cub might be dead.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Seven Hells no.

"But that doesn't matter. We will handle this business with the required discretion. We will send investigators to sound out the situation. If they find proof that Lady Brienne is involved into a conspiracy, be it Lady Sansa's or your brother's disappearance, if not demise, or the King's murder, we will have to see if it is necessary to move her to King's Landing to face tribunal – and let her prove her innocence if she can," Tywin goes on coldly.

"Innocent until proven guilty, have you ever heard about that? You already think that she is guilty, so the whole investigation and tribunal would be a farce. Do you sincerely want to sentence a woman to death who is pregnant? She may not even make it through the voyage back here!" Jaime barks.

Because it _does_ matter.

"I won't let you go," Tywin shakes his head – and Jaime knows, deep down knows, that the man can keep so calm because it means that he will get his will at last.

And he will deliver it right to him, but so be it.

If only to know her safe.

And the cub… if it still is.

"Can you leave her out of the situation? Can you spare her the trial?" the knight asks, his tone demanding.

"Why?" Tywin asks, though both already know the answer Jaime delivers, "What if I promised you to take over Casterly Rock? Would you let her out of the investigation, then?"

"You would do that?" Tywin hides the smallest of smiles.

"I will take over Castelry Rock and marry whoever you want me to. I'd marry a fuckin' _pig_ if that means you can guarantee me that no harm is done to her or the child," Jaime says resolutely.

"That comes as a surprise," Tywin makes a face. "After you denied me quite clearly little while from now that you won't leave the Kingsguard no matter what I say..."

"Let's stop playing. If you can guarantee me that they are kept out of this and are free to go and live, I will do whatever, I don't care, just act, _now_!" Jaime demands.

"You seem very devoted," Tywin notes.

"Not to you, know that, but if you make it happen, then I will do whatever it takes," Jaime grits his teeth. "You have my word for it."

"Then we should see the King," Tywin says, getting up, rising, rising higher, while Jaime still feels like falling, drowning, deeper and deeper and deeper.

* * *

"My King? We need to have a word with you," Tywin announces as they enter the Great Hall, Tommen sitting on the Iron Throne, looking as though he was swallowed by it. Cersei stands right next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, what can I do for you?" the young boy asks, leaning forward, frowning uncertainly.

"I have to inform you about some startling information. The news reached me this morning that your uncle and his wife have disappeared," Tywin begins, and to his surprise, there is no surprise in the boy's face, "Yes, Mother informed me about that already. Just like she said that they have a culprit, the woman who came with my uncle, I mean, the Lord Commander?"

Jaime tries his best not to just jump Cersei as she flashes a small smile at this. _Of course_ she would feed Tommen the information at once, and just the wrong way to put the blame on Brienne.

"We have a _possible suspect_ , my King. Up to this point, we only know that she survived whatever it is that happened on the sea," Tywin argues. "Words are dangerous and should be selected with care. One wrong word can cause wars, a wise King should know that."

"Oh, but Mother said…," Tommen blinks at him, but his grandfather interrupts him before he can babble whatever Cersei seemingly fed him, "It may well be possible that a proper, discrete investigation will deliver evidence to exonerate Lady Brienne from any so such accusations."

"But we will bring her to King's Landing nevertheless," Cersei argues, her voice light despite the heavy venom within it.

"I fear that this would be very dangerous at this stage, at least until we know for certain what happened in Massey's Hook," Tywin argues, making sure to keep his eyes on Tommen, to indicate that he is not listening to her, or even worse, taking her commands.

"You mean it's dangerous not to charge the woman who may have taken part in the conspiracy to murder our former King? My son?" Cersei narrows her eyes at him, her voice rising like a wave.

"I mean to say that it's dangerous to deliver a culprit who turns out to be none, especially with the houses busily blaming each other and spinning theories. We shouldn't fuel an already blazing flame. It would be wiser to handle the situation with all possible discretion, which is why I believe that the King would do better sending a handful of trustworthy men to the settlement where they have Lady Brienne, question her, look at the facts, communicate their findings with us, and take the necessary steps from there," Tywin argues, eyes still trained on his grandson.

"Since when do possible traitors receive special treatment?" Cersei grunts. Her father looks at her once, "Since it might be that she is pregnant, and killing a pregnant woman based on suspicion alone will shatter an already very fragile pillar we stand on."

"What? Lady Brienne is pregnant? But we can't do that to a pregnant woman, can we?" Tommen gasps.

Of course Cersei left out that bit.

"We don't know if she is, ever was, or still is, my King," Cersei coos.

"Which is ever the more a reason to be careful with our steps, already to act in the child's interest," Tywin argues.

"She may have claimed that she is with child, but she likely wasn't. It's not unlikely that she said such a thing to escape punishment or proper tribunal. She lied before, you see?" Cersei goes on with her siren's song.

"But what if she is?" Tommen insists, obviously frightened at the thought of killing an unborn child. After all, he is not at all like Joff, except for the looks, maybe.

"I know that she isn't," Cersei argues. "You can trust my judgment."

"How would you know?" Jaime intervenes.

"How do you tell for certain that there is one? There might be no child," Cersei retorts.

"Do you want me to say it?" Jaime barks, but Tywin intercepts, "That is something the investigation will reveal much better than will theorising over any option."

"Or she might escape," Cersei huffs.

"To where?" Jaime snorts.

"She escaped King's Landing," Cersei insists.

"Not really, if she is stuck in the settlement," her twin brother retorts. Tywin isn't wavered by the siblings fighting, so he just goes on talking to Tommen, "So, my King, don't you think it would be the wisest decision to handle this with care and discretion, so that no rash actions are taken, and no lives are taken that shouldn't be taken? For you must keep in mind that a wise King is someone who always keeps a distance to look at the facts, and based on these facts, makes his decision."

"The fact is that this woman is a traitor, if she isn't Stannis Baratheon's bitch," Cersei hisses.

" _Theories_ , dear daughter," Tywin scolds her before sporting his eyes back on Tommen. "My King?"

"The King doesn't care," Cersei says, stepping forward a bit.

"The King can speak for himself, can't he?" Tywin retorts, though he keeps his voice levelled. "So?"

Tommen looks back and forth between his mother and his grandfather, then his uncle, and back again. You can see the wheels turning inside his head.

"Uhm, I don't want to hurt a pregnant woman," he says eventually.

"Very well," Tywin nods.

"But I want to know what happened to Lady Sansa and my uncle, so if she has any information about their whereabouts, now as someone who had to do with their disappearance or not, I want her to be questioned according to the laws. I will leave it… into your care to assign investigators to the task. They shall sail the soonest possible," Tommen replies uncertainly.

And at some point, Jaime can't help but be a bit selfishly fond of the boy.

"But…," Cersei means to intercept, but Tywin leaves her no chance, "Dear daughter, you seem to be under the impression that you have any say, which you don't."

"I am the Queen Mother," Cersei narrows her eyes at him.

"And I the Lord Hand – and your Father, don't forget that," Tywin argues. "Know your place."

Cersei grunts to herself, blushing in anger. Tywin goes on unimpressed, turning his attention back to Tommen, "Very well, a decision worth a wise King."

"May I have a private word with the Queen Mother?" Jaime asks, licking his lips.

"That might be for the best, so that the King and I can go on discussing some details," Tywin agrees.

"Fine," Cersei huffs.

"Then come," Jaime demands. His sister grumbles to herself before she disappears with him outside. They go to a private chamber, neither one able to sit due to the tension in their bodies. Jaime is right in her face once the door closes, "What do you think are you doing?"

"What do _you_ think you are doing?" she echoes him.

"You and I both know that Brienne didn't kill Joffrey. She was on the high sea by the time," Jaime growls deep in his throat.

"She had to do with it, or else the little monster and its wife wouldn't be gone," Cersei argues, her eyes narrow slits.

"Since that is something deeply hurting you. You wished for them both to drown," Jaime huffs.

"It doesn't matter what I want. I just see that there is a woman who turns up again and again as the one disturbing factor. She brought everything into disorder," Cersei argues.

"You are just trying to find a culprit, and make it someone you don't like, Cersei," Jaime replies vehemently.

"I want answers," she grunts.

"You want someone to blame," Jaime corrects her. "And that it happens to Brienne makes it even more tempting for you. I know you, Cersei."

"I am trying to protect the family," she argues, to which Jaime can only cry out, " _Protect the family_?! How did you protect the family in any significant way with this or with the talk you had with Brienne to make sure that she departed?"

"She meant you no good," Cersei argues.

"You mean me no good," Jaime retorts.

Not if she wants to help kill his child – and Brienne.

"She manipulated you," Cersei goes on.

" _You_ manipulate me, all the time," Jaime cries out.

"She manipulated you to the point that you _fucked a cow_ , by the Gods! You fucked her and made you believe that you made her a child in the belly! That's manipulation enough to me!" Cersei yells, but that only gets Jaime's anger flaring even higher, "She is with child! That's why you wanted her gone!"

"Even if she was, she manipulated you nevertheless," Cersei shakes her head.

"You manipulated her so she'd hate me," Jaime retorts.

"I merely told her the truth," Cersei shrugs nonchalantly.

"At exactly the right time," Jaime huffs.

"I did this to protect you and her from harm, because that is what she meant, still means," Cersei argues.

"You protect _your_ interests! You don't give a damn on me or what would actually be best for me! And in any case, this child is your family, too! How do you protect it through an intended witch hunt on the woman bearing it?! Huh?" Jaime barks angrily.

"I still think she just told you lies to keep you close to her," Cersei argues.

"I know that she is pregnant. This is my child. My family," Jaime insists.

"But not _my_ family," she replies coldly.

"Did you talk to Father or what's the matter? This is _my_ child. That means it's your family by virtue," Jaime shakes his head.

Are all people blind and deaf lately?

"That spawn, if it even exists, is not my family. Neither is the little monster. You are. My children are. Father is. _You_ are my family. The rest can just perish in a ditch. And I will burn the entire rest down if that means I know you protected! I lost Joff. I won't ever lose someone again," Cersei shrieks.

"This is _not_ protection!" Jaime argues. "And risking to kill the child and Brienne won't bring you Joffrey back. It won't raise him from his grave back into your embrace. He is dead. And now you want to dig more graves to somehow compensate your loss!"

"I want to find those responsible who took my first, my oldest!" Cersei grits her teeth.

"She didn't kill him," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"Then she helped those responsible, all the same," she huffs.

"Think of it whatever you want, but don't think that I will just accept that!" Jaime warns her.

"You will have to. Tommen will renew the promise Joffrey made to you, to leave you in the Kingsguard till the day you die," Cersei then declares.

"Don't you dare," Jaime threatens her, his voice shaking.

"And if you don't calm down, he may not leave you as Lord Commander, I may warn you," she goes on, unimpressed.

"I don't care! I don't want to be part of a guard that makes small children the sacrifice of madmen and madwomen! You said that you were shocked at what Joffrey did, to have all the bastards killed! But you try the same damn thing. Just that you still try to appear as a good person for doing it," Jamie accuses her.

"Don't you dare say that," she argues vehemently, now honestly offended and hurt.

"I dare, and I dare any time again. You won't get through with this," Jaime tells her, his voice low from the anger pulling it down.

"I already did," she argues.

"Father will convince Tommen to approve me as heir of Casterly Rock. And Father has more power than you," Jaime warns her. "It's as he said, you have to accept your place, Cersei. You managed with Joffrey once, but that is over now. Father won't let you destroy his plans for me in Casterly Rock a second time around, not with someone like Tommen as his King."

"Let's see about that. Your vow will be renewed this evening, during dinner, to celebrate Tommen's coronation, trust me, I will make sure of that," she warns him, turning towards the door.

"Bloody funeral feast for yet another child, you mean," Jaime mutters.

"You will stay in the Kingsguard. The trial will take place. She will face tribunal, and hopefully die. I swear it. And you will stay with me, I swear that, too," she vows.

" _Let's see about that_ ," he mimics her. Cersei huffs once more before she disappears from the room. Jaime breathes in through his nose, trying to control his breathing.

He thought Brienne leaving with the cub was the worst that could happen after the loss of his hand, but that the cub might be dead and that Brienne might be killed for something she didn't do, it's much worse than anything Jaime experienced so far in his life.

However, Jaime gathers himself, not allowing himself to drown in these fears. He has to act now. So he leaves the room as well, seeking out his Father, who waits for him outside the Great Hall.

"Cersei says that she will make Tommen announce me Lord Commander again, like Joffrey did to keep me from leaving for Casterly Rock," Jaime says without further prelude.

"She has no such power as the Queen Mother," Tywin argues.

"She seemed pretty convinced," Jaime huffs.

"And your sister is blinded by her rage, as always, and her mourning," Tywin shrugs, though there is no emotion in his voice.

"I find it a bit curious that you now use your magical powers – but didn't back when it was just about Brienne and I marrying, with an heir for your Empire on the way already," Jaime can't help but point out.

"Well, as things stand now, it may have been instinct not to trust her," Tywin shrugs his shoulders.

"Well, your instinct will fail you, because the truth will come to light that all accusations against Brienne are ill-founded at best," Jaime replies stubbornly.

"One can either admire your devotion or take you for a witless fool who doesn't want to recognise the possibility that he was played," Tywin makes a face.

"I know Brienne," Jaime insists.

"Seemingly not as much as you thought. At some point I fear that we don't know anyone really well," Tywin frowns.

"I know Brienne. She wouldn't ever do such a thing. That is simply impossible," Jaime repeats.

Because he can't say it often enough. There are too many lies that Jaime has to counter it with the few truths he knows.

"Well, we will see about that when the investigation takes place," Tywin tells him.

"And you won't let me go with," Jaime makes a face.

"No. I know that you can be sneaky if you want to be. Who tells me that you don't just take her away and flee, out of the hope that she bears you your child?" Tywin sighs.

"So… once this is done and dealt with… and she is safely back in Tarth, you will announce me heir," Jaime grimaces.

He just signs a contract with the devil, his Father no less, but still a devil in small, if not big, but Jaime could care less if that guarantees their safety.

"Correct. Though I hope that you are aware that a union between her and you won't ever come about, yes? Even if it came to light that she was not involved in Joffrey's murder or Tyrion's and Sansa's disappearance, it would be a union that would always stand under a bad light," Tywin goes on.

"I told you, for as long as you guarantee me her and the child's safety, I will marry whoever you want me to. While I can't guarantee that I won't complain, you can be sure that I will do it – under the premise that they are safe," Jaime says.

"And you are also aware that once you are in Casterly Rock…," Tywin means to say, but Jaime cuts him off, "Seeing the child won't be an option."

"Well, maybe there is no child after all," Tywin shrugs.

"The way I reckon, no child that I will ever see, this way or another," Jaime sighs.

And he just feels like drowning.


	23. Of Griffins and Harpies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime gets more news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around - and all the other kind things you do despite the mean things I do to your hearts. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the chapter despite the shameless dramatic drama with sprinkles of more drama.
> 
> Oh yes, in case you didn't notice until now: Cersei is the over-b*** here. Big surprise, right?
> 
> In any case, I hope you make it through without more heart attacks.

What used to be ghosting through hallways grew to be pacing.

Jaime feels like a lion in a cage, even more like a lion in a cage than he was in the muddy pen he was imprisoned in for over a year.

The Lord Commander finds himself asking for all information about the investigation daily, knocking on his Father's door at least once a day, if not more often, much to the older man's annoyance. However, Jaime is really past the point to care if he is making a complete fool of himself.

He was a hostage to the King he slayed – and he starts to have the same kind of tension in his shoulders that Jaime had when Aerys kept him in his castle as his beloved Wildfire consumed him from the inside-out. In fact, it feels even worse.

Jaime still has no clue if Brienne _still_ has the cub – because he knows that she had it when they were in King's Landing, just like he knows that it's his, even if it may no longer in this world. The way the Lord Commander, soon Lord of Casterly Rock, reckons, his Father purposely withholds that bit of information. Though he has no clue what gain Tywin has from this, other than torturing him or making Jaime painfully aware of the circumstance that he can do nothing about this situation other than waiting to be appointed Lord of Casterly Rock, after a successful Lannister Manoeuvre.

All Jaime knows is that Brienne is still in the small settlement by Massey's Hook, that she claims that their ship was seized by a bunch of strangers she didn't know, and took Sansa and Tyrion before she could do anything to prevent it.

If only he could hear those things from Brienne herself.

If only he could be by her side now.

The only good thing is that Cersei's _plans_ , if you can even call them that, did not succeed. The dinner went on uneventfully, just like any other dinner since the day did. Jaime reckons that their Father talked to her another time to remind her of her place.

And for that woman he risked everything? For this one half of a woman?

"… And when exactly will this farce of an investigation come to an end?" he can hear Margaery's voice echoing through the hallways. Her voice, as always, gives away no great amount of anger, only well-measured strength.

"That is not of your concern," Cersei's voice rings out. Jaime makes a face. He knows that Margaery sought out to support them in their quest to get Sansa and Brienne to Tarth, but he didn't think this would extend beyond the level of doing a small favour. To call Cersei upon it now that Brienne is still considered a traitor, if internally only, is a huge step in a direction he didn't think the woman from Highgarden would take.

"It is of my concern because I am to be wedded to the King and since Lady Brienne always was a loyal servant to my first husband," Margaery goes on.

"How is it, you tell me? To be widow for the second time already? At such young age? Though at some point I reckon you don't really care," Cersei jibes.

"Then I fear you don't know me too well, your Grace. _Mother_ ," Margaery replies in such a sweet tone that it's bitter on one's tongue. "And in any case, not all are _gifted_ to be widowed at _your_ age."

"Guard your tongue. And in any case, even if you convince Tommen _somehow_ , you have the same, let's say, _issue_ we all encounter, and that is that the Lord Hand holds all necessary power at this point. So you can sit back and weave a new wedding gown. Maybe… green this time?" Cersei tells her.

"Oh no, I thought about red velvet and gold. As rumours have it, I am to wed a lion, no?" Margaery says before turning around and leaving.

Jaime is stunned for a moment. He knows that Margaery Tyrell is quick with her tongue and even quicker with her wit, but to leave Cersei speechless… that takes a bit more than wit.

It takes them no more than a look to exchange the idea. Jaime follows the young woman wordlessly to a place where they can talk.

"May I ask why you turned to Cersei about the matter?" the Lord Commander questions.

"Didn't you hear? They said that the suspicion of Lady Brienne being partly responsible for your brother's and Sansa's disappearance is borne out," Margaery says. They didn't talk ever since the ship departed, since Jaime believed their alliance had already ended. Not to mention that he doesn't like Loras Tyrell, at all, which is already an overstatement.

"While I appreciate your will to fight for her honour, you need not worry. My Father will make sure that she will not face tribunal," Jaime tells her.

For that, he drowned himself in the devil's pit after all.

"And what makes you so certain that he will carry out the task?" Margaery makes a face, knowing better than to take any word for granted.

"I will go to Casterly Rock and marry whoever he wants me to wed. That is all he wants, to secure the Empire. For that, he will even let this tribunal go, believe me that much. That is why there is this investigation in the first place," Jaime says. "He needs something to back up his interest. He will find the _facts_ it takes to make sure that Brienne is left out of this."

"And you think that the Queen Mother will just sit by and watch?" Margaery makes a face.

"She can't do much. My Father bears the political power as the Lord Hand. She is simply… your betrothed's mother," Jaime shrugs.

And his sister.

And his damnation.

"If that were so, be sure that we wouldn't have someone watch the port at all times to make sure no ship leaves without our notice," Margaery says, leaving Jaime stunned once more, "You mean to say?"

"What if the Queen Mother decides to take matters into her own hands?" Margaery shrugs. "We know better than to trust someone like her. So we rather have a watchful eye on the situation entire."

"Father had the men instructed to make sure that no harm is done to Brienne. That also means to protect her from such an assault," Jaime argues.

"What if she sends the Mountain?" Margaery replies.

"We'd know. If he managed to get a ship and go there, we'd be right behind. While you watch the port, I watch the Red Keep, or rather, have it watched," Jaime shrugs.

She is not the only one who acts like a hawk these days.

Maybe he is a griffin after all.

"To think that such an honourable woman is made the pawn of politics… I am not unfamiliar with plots and intrigues, I like to spin and weave them a lot, I must admit, but I know, deep down know, that Lady Brienne is not responsible for this," Margaery sighs, hugging her arms.

"And she isn't, but it will be all fine, Lady Margaery. I have it taken care of with my retirement," Jaime assures her, maybe even to reassure himself.

"I just don't want to imagine what she must be going through. Lady Brienne has no clue what is going on here, just like she doesn't know about your… _plan_ to keep her safe," Margaery points out, making Jaime frown.

That's right. Brienne has no clue that he does anything within his powers, which isn't much anyways, to make sure that she is spared the trial. He just hopes that she has that last ounce of faith in him left to believe that he will _rescue_ her, though Jaime knows that this is anything but a rescue, this is merely preventing further harm to someone who deserves none of it.

"She is a tough woman, she will pull through," he says, more to reassure himself this time.

"And even the toughest women can be very vulnerable, if you attack only the right spot," Margaery argues.

"Yeah, I know that as well," Jaime sighs.

Attack a woman's ideals, and she shatters like glass.

"You see, I was amazed at Lady Brienne. I always wanted to be Queen, since early childhood, ruling the country was all I ever wanted, and I knew that I wasn't the only one dreaming that dream," Margaery goes on.

"No, many want to sit on a golden chair and rule," Jaime agrees.

"I have never met a woman, or person in general, who is that very devoted to service and service alone. At some point one should think that there would be at least a small part of herself that would like to rule, would seek to have this control, but that woman would always bow to a throne rather than sit upon it. I have never seen that, to be honest," Margaery shrugs. "And I couldn't help but admire that."

"Yeah, she is one of a kind," Jaime sighs.

"So you think you will be successful with your plans?" Margaery questions.

"I am actually most certain about that," Jaime nods.

"Well, then I will have to rely on you to bring Lady Brienne safe back home to Tarth," Margaery exhales, looking weary. "Her and the child."

"Do you believe in what they say about her?" Jaime asks.

"Not a single word," Margaery shakes her head. "You?"

"Not at all," Jaime agrees, glad for once to hear it from someone other than himself.

"That should better stay that way. While intrigues are our field of expertise, some truths should be held dear, don't you agree?" Margaery grimaces.

"Absolutely," Jaime nods.

"Well, then I will be on my way again. I have to find a dress for tonight's dinner," Margaery flashes a small grin.

"Red velvet and gold?" Jaime can't help but chuckle.

"Who knows?" she shrugs before she exits.

He never thought that he would count the days until his Father sent him to Casterly Rock, but at this point, he finds himself dreading for the words to come, so he may make his last flight as a griffin.

* * *

When the news reach him, Jaime just laughs, simply laughs at the comicality of the statement. He laughs right at the servant's face.

Tywin Lannister – dead.

Tywin Lannister – having died on the shithouse.

Tywin Lannister, the unbreakable man, the man made of solid gold, one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros died while on the _shithouse_.

This is a joke.

The cheapest jape known to men.

But no matter how hard Jaime laughs, the boy doesn't say that it's a joke, doesn't give away the punchline. Because there is just the punch.

The punch that this is… _real_.

That this happened.

That this is happening.

That is the punch right in the guts.

Tywin Lannister died. On the shithouse. Seemingly from a heart attack – and that even though many doubted there to be such an organ beating in his chest.

The Lannister Empire falls and crumbles to pieces, punched to shatters by epic irony itself.

Lions are seemingly a lot easier to kill than Jaime had ever believed them to.

The servant has to say it a few times until he registers that he is supposed to come with him to Cersei's chamber. Jaime frowns, but follows as he tries to control his strangled chuckles.

The servant disappears at once, and Jaime comes over to her slowly.

"So… it's real," Jaime grimaces. "He's dead."

"Yes, he's dead," Cersei exhales.

"Do you want to discuss matters about his funeral, or…?" Jaime means to ask, but she is quick enough to interrupt him, "I want to inform you hereby that I will have Brienne of Tarth in King's Landing to face tribunal, for having taken part in conspiracies revolving around Lady Sansa's and the little monster's disappearance – and that she may have to do with Joffrey's murder after all."

"What?!" Jaime blinks at her.

"You heard me," she shrugs.

"You can't do that," Jaime growls.

"I can and I will. Now that Father is dead, I am in charge, until Tommen comes of age, or at least until we have named a new Lord Hand. And that means that I have any right to make such decisions. _I know my place_ ," Cersei says through pursed lips. "You should know yours, too. Which is here, in King's Landing, with your family. Until the day you die."

"So is that it? You just want to make sure that I stay here?" Jaime looks at her, stunned.

"I want to keep my family safe. Joffrey, now Father, it has to stop. I want to know my family where I know I can keep them safe, by my side," she says.

"Joffrey was here and still died. Father was here, and still he died," Jaime argues. "Even the Red Keep guarantees no safety."

"It will from now on," she growls.

"Cersei, if you think that you have to kill Brienne so that I stay, you are wrong, alright? If you let her be, I promise you that I won't ever leave your side. I will do that, but only if you spare her life. But if you do, I will be here until the day I die," Jaime bargains, stepping closer.

Really, jumping down a bear pit is easier than this, is than any of this ever was.

Because Jaime could only offer his lordship to his Father, and now he can only offer the rest of him to her as a token. No sudden acts of heroism could bring him to where Brienne is, because she would have been dead before he ever would have arrived.

And now? Now he has to pray that Cersei seeks him enough to forget her revenge, if only a bit.

He thought the contract with the devil was bad enough, but now he deals with a demon, or so it seems, a harpy.

"To watch until either one of us dies how you long for her and the child she may or may not bear you? To look into your eyes to see that giant cow instead of me in their reflection?" she retorts, the corners of her mouth nervously flexing.

"If you spare her, there will be only you. You know it, Cersei, we are each other's half," Jaime insists, his words an echo.

"We are, but I think that you have now only a quarter to give, if at all," Cersei argues. "And that is why she has to go. Because you belong to me. You are mine."

"I will be yours, but I won't be if you kill her, do you understand? Don't make her the sacrifice for something _I_ do, Cersei. She is pregnant. You know how much it hurts to lose a child, so don't expose her to such a thing only to bind me. There is no need to expose her to that pain," Jaime tries to reason with her, but Cersei is having none of it, "Yes, I know what it's like to lose a child! She probably has to do with it! And that is why she has to go!"

"If Brienne goes, then all you can do is to make me stay here, but be sure that I won't be able to love you anymore after that," Jaime argues. "That'd be one blow too many, Cersei."

"I don't care if you love me, for as long as you are here and fuck me," Cersei growls, the fury shining red in her green eyes.

Because fury makes blind.

Because fury makes deaf.

Because it leaves you a demonish harpy.

Or griffin.

"I am not that dumb, Jaime. If I kill her or not, it won't make a difference. She has you under her spell, for whatever the reason. Dead or alive, your thoughts revolve around her. So if I can't make you love me, then I can make sure that you stay at least. I will make sure that you don't die, not on my watch. And that is also by eliminating any opportunity for you to sneak away in the physical world. What you do inside your dreams is up to you, but you will stay with me. _That_ is your place," she says, her voice shaking with an edge of desperation.

"Cersei, I beg you," Jaime pleads, yes, pleads. He'd fall on his knees and kiss her feet if that would convince her, but he knows it, deep down knows it, that nothing will convince her.

That there is nothing he can do.

That this is now set into stone.

That the contract signed with the demonish harpy is written with blood, sealed with blood, and renewed with blood.

So much blood.

"And you think Lord Selwyn will just silently accept that?" Jaime huffs, trying another time to counter with arguments instead of feelings.

With concrete things instead of echoes.

"Oh, he will have to. He already asked to have her released, but there is not enough gold in all of Westeros to buy her freedom," Cersei says. "And in any case, I am that much of a good person to send Olenna Tyrell to console him."

"You mean that she is supposed to make sure that he doesn't start an attack on King's Landing to get his daughter free?" Jaime snorts. Cersei just shrugs.

"She will be the culprit the people need to calm down, so the political dimension is also fulfilled. Her demise... I mean tribunal is what this country needs," Cersei goes on, unimpressed, hard and cold as stone.

"Her demise is what _you_ need," Jaime argues.

"You can think of it whatever you want, but this is long since decided on. A raven was sent out to bring message to the settlement in Massey's Hook to bring her to King's Landing. You should be glad, you get to see her again," she huffs.

"And I can't convince you?" Jaime asks.

"You haven't been very convincing lately," she sighs. "But it doesn't matter. Sooner or later, you will creep back to me, like you always do. Because I am all you have, Jaime. I'm all you'll ever have. I told you, didn't I? I swore it. You are not the only one who cares to keep her vows."

"And you should be afraid of what I may vow next," Jaime says before stomping outside, leaving the demonish harpy to her contract written with blood.

And Jaime feels as though the griffin's wings were just ripped out, leaving him to bleed out.


	24. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thanks for sticking around - and eagerly commenting and kudoing. You folks are kind despite the pain I cause you. 
> 
> Just to make it clear, the first part of the story takes place later. The second part happens before it, but I found it better that way, LOL.
> 
> I hope you'll like the chapter.
> 
> Meep, in any case, I hope you'll like it anyway ;)
> 
> See end notes for a mini spoiler if you want it. If you don't like, skip, or do whatever else you find proper.

"You have called for me?" a man's voice rings out. Olenna Tyrell grins as the man steps into the darkened room, only lit with dim candlelight, painting them different shades of brown and orange as the ship rocks back and forth. She sits back slightly, studying the man.

"I feel still quite flustered to have a true Stranger onboard," she says, motioning at him to sit down, which he does.

" _Stranger_? Is that what I am now?" he chuckles, amused.

"I found it fitting," she shrugs. "So let an old woman dwell in the realm of the incarnated Seven for a while."

"I still owe you my thanks," he says. "For all of this here."

"Oh don't, _please_ , I am merely taking a Stranger along, no?" she chuckles softly. "That is considered a virtue."

"Why do you support us?" he asks.

"I find this woman absolutely marvellous. I have never seen a rose that grew _that_ high into the air, pushing whatever other frail plant aside. You see, I have seen women made of very different stuffs, but never of the material they have in Tarth, or so it appears," Olenna muses with a smug grin.

"I can only agree," he sighs.

"There are so many girls without thorns these days. Useless little creatures, giggling and dancing around to nonsense songs, with silky skirts and silky skin. They are beautiful to the eye, absolutely pretty, a true pleasure for anyone who sets his or her eyes upon them, but in the end... They all start to look the same kind of pretty, become interchangeable – and whither oh so fast, for they are so very frail. But I think the Lady of Tarth is made of the kind of stuff that lasts through any winter. Perennial plants are my favourites after all," Olenna smirks.

"I thought you were into roses," he grimaces.

"Ah, of course, of course, but perennials are the plants that nourish and survive any winter and make sure that the garden will always be green long before the first buds start to spring open," the older woman says.

"I surely hope so," he shrugs.

"I suppose the problem is that not many see their beauty. They don't bloom the way the pretty roses do," Olenna sighs, folding her hands in her lap.

"True," he agrees.

"So are you into perennials or roses, Stranger?" she asks.

"I learned that perennials fit me better, even though I still fear that my patch already died in the nearing Winter," he replies.

"Oh, you can bring back any plant from the dead, didn't you know? Sometimes they don't come back in the old shape, but they still do. Flowers never die completely. They are just reborn in a new shape once spring returns," Olenna tells him.

"So it's really just your perennial you want to know safe?" he grimaces, not buying it. Olenna studies him for a long moment, contemplating, before she goes on to say, "I want to know all of my favourite plants to grow and stay strong. That is what makes my garden the most beautiful and richest of them all. You see, we do many things to keep our patch alright. Even if that means to get rid of some weed."

"Are you implying something?" he asks.

"Oh, not at all. And I am actually quite tired of thinking about roses and plants. That is what I always have to think about. I would rather marvel at the sea," Olenna sighs. "And in any case, you wouldn't want to wear out your welcome here, Stranger, would you? For that, this mission is too important. What lies in the future matters, not what lies in the past. It's all withered and barren there. The past is no place for hopes. Those lie only ahead of us. So yes, we both should turn our heads in the right directions, and pave our way to a hopefully brighter garden."

"What do you want with Lord Selwyn?" he asks.

"A nice chat?" she shrugs.

"What do you want with him?" the man questions. " _For real_."

"Of course I want to meet the man who managed to grow an entirely new species, and then again... I think that if he is to know about the trouble his daughter finds herself in, it should be someone who is in fact convinced of her innocence. Bad news are bad enough, the messenger shouldn't be of bad spirit as well," Olenna replies.

"True, but you know that Brienne may likely not return to Tarth in a longer while," he argues.

"If ever," she shrugs.

"Right," he grimaces, bitterness in his voice.

"One more reason to offer solace. And in any case, I told you, I focus on what is ahead, and what is ahead started on Tarth," Olenna goes on to explain. "I wouldn't want her Father to start a rebellion if there is no need. And I surely hope there will be no need, or rather, that you'll make sure of that, Stranger. Either way, I also want to know the man to know the truth, truths... I was lucky enough that my dear granddaughter stepped out of this trouble unscathed. I know my fortune, so I want to offer him at least that bit of green."

"Her marriage, you mean?" he frowns.

"What? No, of course the _wedding_. Just imagine that she would have fallen victim to this the same way," Olenna argues.

"Was she ever in danger?" he asks.

"We always are. Anything can happen anytime," Olenna shrugs. "The vicious thing about the future, despite the fact that it holds the treasure of hope at its centre, is that it is surrounded by the unpredictable and the chaos."

"That's right, that's sadly right," he exhales.

"But the world tends to surprise me more often than it shocks me, so I dare to believe that the surprises make the shocks worthwhile," Olenna sighs, leaning back in her wooden chair.

"I hope so, too," he sighs, but then looks at her. "So? Any other words of advice you want to share?"

"You may want to go looking for a mockingbird if you are looking for a dove," she tells him.

"Did that mockingbird sing that song to you? Or did you join its tunes?" the man asks.

"I heard its song way too late, and it wasn't the song my bird had practised with the little mockingbird," she replies.

The man looks at her, his jaw lax.

"So, is that all?" he asks gruffly.

"That is all, Stranger. Just know that once we come to Massey's Hook, you may have to act fast," she looks at him.

"I am ready," the man says before he stands up and leaves.

"But one more word before you go, Stranger?" she says. The man doesn't turn around.

"You may not believe it coming from a woman who cannot curb her sarcasm most of her time, but... what lies in the past now once was an unpredictable future, one that even those who tried to pave their way through it in search of some hope could not foresee, and didn't... and surely regret it now. For people were harmed who shouldn't ever have been harmed. But one can only hope for the sake of the future ahead that a Stranger won't risk it all in favour of a fast revenge on past mistakes. For that, an offer of redemption was already poured onto the wound."

The man nods curtly before he exits. Olenna leans back in her chair with a grimace.

"Let's hope we don't get seasick."

* * *

Earlier, Jaime tries his best to control his breathing, biting down bile as he staggers down the hallways.

His father is dead.

Cersei can do however she pleases in her madness.

He can do nothing because he is apparently useless yet again, if not more useless than he ever was.

Fighting a bear seems a lot easier at this second.

What is he supposed to do now?

Wait until they bring Brienne here and then try to break her out of prison – and flee?

Try to champion for her in a trial by combat, with his left, or knocking what would likely be the Mountain with his metal hand right in the face?

Now Jaime can't even sacrifice himself for her safety's sake anymore.

And what does he have other than his life to put in the balance?

"Come with."

Jaime whirls his head around as he feels someone grab him by the arm forcefully, pulling him forward. The Lord Commander blinks a few times until he understands that Loras Tyrell has a firm grip on him, not looking at him once as he drags him along.

"What devil possesses you? You know, you're not my type?" Jaime can't help but remark.

"I don't have the time for that, and neither do you. So you better shut your mouth or I will reconsider," Loras warns him.

"Reconsider what?" Jaime challenges him.

"Killing you after all," the young knight says, pulling Jaime along. The Lord Commander grimaces, but then lets the young man lead the way until they reach what turns out to be Margaery's chamber.

"I got him," Loras declares, pushing Jaime forward slightly. He narrows his eyes at the man once, but then focuses his attention on Margaery – and Olenna, as it turns out.

Normally, Jaime would knock sense into that silly boy just now, but he sees that this is more important now.

"Ladies," he grimaces, still trying to figure out what this Tyrell intervention is all about.

"I reckon you know of the latest developments," Margaery makes a face.

"Yes," Jaime sighs.

"We don't have much time. We have to act quickly to get you out of King's Landing," she goes on.

"Get me out of King's Landing? _What_?" Jaime repeats, blinking.

"Are you deaf or so? Your sister, or my soon-to-be-likely-no-longer wife, wants to get the giantess here to get her head. So if you have any interest to prevent that from happening, you should better listen," Loras says, leaning against the door.

"Since when did you grow balls?" Jaime huffs. Loras narrows his eyes at him.

"What my brother means to say is that we only have a short timeslot to get you out of King's Landing and on a ship to fetch Lady Brienne – and flee," Margaery jumps in.

"What? The raven was already sent, Cersei said. Even if I had the fastest ship in the world, it wouldn't arrive before the raven's landed," Jaime argues.

"You mean _that_ raven?" Loras huffs, tossing a dead bird to his feet.

"Now, that was dramatic... and completely unnecessary," Jaime snorts. "Though if _you_ shot it from the sky, I give you that much: You must have a good aim – and a fantastic timing to know when exactly that bird would be sent out to fly to Massey's Hook."

"I told you, we had our eyes wherever we could. The ravens are always… something to look out for, because they travel faster than us by far, as you pointed out," Margaery explains.

Jaime tries his best not to stare.

Is this happening?

"In any case, I am to travel to Tarth, upon the Queen Mother's order already," Olenna speaks up. "So Massey's Hook happens to be on my way."

"Cersei will know me gone," Jaime argues.

"She will only know once you are long since gone, and we have already made arrangements to have _witnesses_ to claim you escaping by horse, or with a private boat, or whatever else," Loras argues.

"I will distract her further with matters of the marriage and the like to the best of my abilities to give you time ahead," Margaery adds.

"But even if she finds out, let's say, only by the next day, we still have the issue that she will just send a new raven, and by that time I will not be anywhere close to where they have Brienne. And I don't think that Cersei will let you creep around the ravens when she knows me gone," Jaime argues.

"Not if you feed the birds some certain seeds they are not supposed to eat – or else they'd fall ill," Olenna replies. "This is the best option we have, Ser. So we shouldn't waste our time wrestling the maybes. You need to go. I can go. And everything else is something only the light of the next days will reveal. So now, you will dress up as one of my servants to come with on the ship. We will sail within an hour, so you have to be quick about it."

"You are aware that this means a lot of risk, for all of you?" Jaime licks his lips.

"Ser, don't take me for a fool just because I'm old. I know the risks, we all do. The question is only how fast you can get moving to set things into motion," Olenna says.

"What will you do about the ravens?" Jaime asks. "And this poor fellow right to my feet that had to serve as the dramatic underlining?"

"That one will burn little time from now. The others… well, maybe they survive after all, but that is nothing they can prove to be our responsibility," Loras shrugs. Jaime studies the young man he still finds about the most girlish boy he has ever seen.

And that man is supposed to be one of his saviours now?

Fortune plays odd japes at times.

"Why do _you_ want to help her? For all I know, you wanted her dead," Jaime can't help but ask. Loras makes a face, "I never made it a secret that I don't like her. I find that woman grotesque. And I don't believe in shadows killing men like Renly, but I am a knight. And it's against anything I believe in as a knight to kill a woman bearing a child only because the Queen Mother wants to make sure her _plaything_ stays put."

Jaime grimaces, choosing not to comment, so Loras goes on, "And in any case, I never heard a lie from her lips. I think she's too dumb for it. Maybe the woman was under an illusion and someone came to the tent to kill Renly, and she just made herself believe it to be a shadow, I don't care, but she's never lied about anything, the dumb thing she is. So I can't believe that she started all of a sudden. And that means I owe her that much respect not to let her become victim of lies she never spun."

"Then I suppose…I am to thank you," Jaime grimaces.

"You better don't. I don't need your thanks, because I don't do _you_ the favour here," Loras says through narrowed eyes. "And if not for my family insisting, I would probably still sit in my chair and watch it all happen from far."

He glares at the women once to underline his point.

"I can live with that," Jaime shrugs.

"Then gather all you need and meet me outside my chamber as soon as you are ready, fully dressed to obscure yourself as as stranger to anyone's view," Olenna says. "That is unless you aren't."

"I am," Jaime says with determination in his voice.

He is ready.

He has waited all this time for a chance.

And now it's there, however small, however fragile it may be.

"Then you should get going," Loras urges him, stepping away from the door.

"Lady Margaery, in case we don't see each other again – I owe you more than words can say," Jaime says, honestly meaning it this time.

"You owe me that you make this mission successful," she says, offering a small smile.

"I will try my best," Jaime nods.

"Does your best mean that you get moving by any chance?" Loras sighs, annoyed. Jaime rolls his eyes at him, flashing another small smile at Margaery and Olenna before he disappears.

Jaime makes his way to his Father's study. He just has to finish that before he can get to anything else. The Lord Commander goes over the notes, not caring what this may be considered robbing of the dead.

The dead won't miss it.

The least his dead Father.

At last he finds what he is looking for, folds the parchment with edgy movements and stuffs it into the inside of his jacket before exiting quickly, unnoticed by anyone else.

He has to pack.

He has to leave.

He has to arrive somewhere else.

He has to reach out for the tomorrow.

And tomorrow is not here.

Here is only yesterday.

Tomorrow lies on the sea.

It lies in a small settlement by Massey's Hook.

It lies with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My characterization of Loras, Margaery, and Olenna might be OOC, I don't know. I just wanted Loras to be perhaps a bit more like he is in the books (I think?), and not just... you know, girlish, whatever. I guess in general I take the Tyrells for better folks than they might be in reality, but I like them. Because I love Olenna and Margaery to bits.


	25. The Madness of the Knotholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne receives an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around despite the waves and storms stuffed with drama.
> 
> I apologize yet again for boo-boos to your hearts. 
> 
> After the last chapters were exclusively from Jaime's viewpoint, we finally hear Brienne again! Yay!
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter ;)

Brienne lies on her back, glancing at the ceiling, counting the knotholes in the wooden beams.

Though she knows there are fifty-two exactly.

Because there were fifty-two the first time she counted them.

And the second time.

And the fifty-second time.

What did her Father always say to her? To try the same thing again and again – and expect another result – is madness. He said so when Brienne was not yet in training and ended up being hurt all the time, and still challenged any boy for a duel who dared to call her names.

He always told her that it was madness, but Brienne didn't really care, because she said to herself that the day would come that another result would could about by changing the circumstance. And that is what she did. So she trained hard, harder, and harder, until the glorious day arrived at last that she beat her first aggressor. One of the boys who worked in the kitchen, for all she remembers, his face full of orange freckles, a crooked, wicked grin, ginger hair, and missing a front tooth.

After she was done with him, he missed two more.

However, _this_ just now must be madness because Brienne has to realise that she finds herself in a situation where she can't change anything. No training will help her cause. Because her body won't serve as the weapon necessary to break herself out of here, to break out and away.

She can count the fifty-two knotholes again and again and it won't be fifty-one or fifty-three any time soon.

That is unless she drills a hole in the wood to change the number.

But that would be cheating.

But then again… isn't everything?

If only Brienne knew how to get out of here – to go search for Sansa, Pod, and Tyrion.

If they aren't already dead…

She turns to the side, biting back the tears that mean to escape her eyes at the mere thought.

But this is not the time to cry.

It's not the time for anything much but to wait for those beyond the door to make a move, so she can react thus. Until then, Brienne has nothing but her dignity, and she fears she will lose it if she allows the tears to come.

Because tears are for the pretty girls. They are lost on the ugly women. They only weaken the body and morale.

They already warned her that it will only be a matter of time until they will ship her back to King's Landing, for her to sink to her knees before the Iron Throne and beg for her life, and likely be denied.

It's only a matter of time, they said and sneered.

But Brienne has no clue how to prove her innocence, given that she'd be given a chance to make a try at it. As it seems, truth can be shaped by whoever gets his or her hands on it first.

And Brienne didn't grasp this reality until it was too late for her to forge it in another way.

She was simply presented with a lump now supposed to be reality, her reality.

So here she is, and there is nothing she can do.

She can only wait, count the knotholes, and hope for the fifty-third to arise out of thin air.

Yes, this is madness indeed.

Brienne is ripped out of her thoughts when there is a knock on the heavy wooden door. The tall woman straightens up on the meagre bed, putting on the most aloof expression she can manage, calling Renly's words to her mind in an endless mantra.

Don't let them see your tears.

They are just nasty little shit.

The nasty little shits are not worth crying over.

Be it the men out there, or those predators already waiting for her in King's Landing.

She won't be weak.

She won't budge.

She knows the truth, however much it is worth to the rest of the world.

"Brienne?"

She frowns. Through the heavy wood of the door, she can't make out the voice, but none of the investigators or locals calls her simply by her first name.

Brienne already means to say something, but that is when the door springs open at once, and she can do nothing but stare at the incarnate fifty-third knothole.

"Jaime?!"

He looks at Brienne with wide eyes.

There she is. Alive.

Her stomach grew to the point that there is no way of hiding it anymore. Not that the rough, worn dress they seemingly forced her into does anything much to conceal. At least it's not pink. Her hair is unkempt, she has healing scratches on her left cheek and a larger healing wound on the right side of her forehead.

Does that mean the cub is still there? But Jaime remembers that Cersei's stomach didn't flatten out for months after her pregnancies…

"What are you doing here?" Brienne stares at him, as though he was a ghost.

Because that is what he is, what this must be. A ghost story.

It's madness.

"Getting you out of here, as it seems," he replies, looking around nervously.

"They said that I am to face tribunal," Brienne breathes.

"Yeah, and the men who are supposed to take you are… _indisposed_ , for now," Jaime grimaces.

It was tough enough to knock out the three investigators. Jaime had to wait till night rose – and he got them one by one, or else he would have lost the fights for sure. Not to mention the guards roaming around the place where they held Brienne. If not for them not expecting a hooded man to sneak up to them in the midst of the night, Jaime would have stood no chance against them. For that, he is still too useless with his left, and the stump of his right arm likewise.

"I didn't do it," Brienne says, needing to say it.

"I know, which is why we have to go, _now_ , before they realize what's going on," Jaime urges her.

"But…," she means to object, but he is quick enough to interrupt her, "Brienne, please, now is not the time. You either come with me now, or they will have you executed in King's Landing. We have to get you out of here _right now_."

Brienne gets to her feet, giving a small nod. Jaime lets a silent sigh of relief as he turns back around to check the hallway.

"It's clear, c'mon," he mutters, pulling Brienne along by her wrist, which she allows wordlessly. And Jaime wouldn't ever daresay out loud just how reassuring her pulse is against his fingertips.

They swarm through the hallway of the building, but Brienne stops suddenly. Jaime pedals backwards, holding back the curse on his lips.

"We have to hurry," he urges her.

"We can't go without _it_ ," she insists. Jaime frowns as Brienne pulls him back to one of the doors along the way. She tests the lock once before thrusting her shoulder against it mightily. Jaime yelps, but the door budges at once. They don't have wood strong enough for the Lady of Tarth, as it appears. Jaime frowns at congeries of clubber and a few shiny things. Probably the 'treasury', or rather, the place where they put all the things they bunker from shipwrecks and the like. But he recognises one object straight away.

"Really?" he makes a face.

" _Really_ ," she replies simply. Jaime knows better than to object, so he grabs the larger piece under his arm while she grabs the other – and then they make their way ahead again – because that is the only direction that matters now.

"Where do we go?" she asks.

"We will head into the woods once we get there," Jaime says. "I already set up a boat that now roams further down the bay, with a torch to get their suspicion – and attention. That should give us some time ahead."

Brienne tilts her head.

They seemingly think alike after all…

"But what about the investigators? And the tribunal?" she questions.

"They won't be going anywhere any time soon. Their boats are all damaged now. One should never leave one's hammer unattended – and all ravens have _mysteriously_ disappeared, like the horses. By the time anyone in King's Landing gets the news, we are long since hidden in the Kingswood," Jaime replies. "And since the boats are damaged, they'll believe that we are on the sea, too, well, hopefully."

Brienne nods wordlessly as they walk outside. Jaime looks around anxiously, but gladly, the whole town seems to be lost in deep slumber. He leads Brienne to the spot where he brought one of the horses to and puts the package Brienne insisted to take along on its back as silently as he can.

"C'mon."

And so they walk into the darkness of the night, neither one saying a word.

Only later they can hear people yelling in the distance, about getting the ships fixed to search for the prisoner. They yell for the boats, the ravens, the horses.

Jaime can feel the rush of fear and nervousness leaving him, being swept out of him with every step they make forward into the darkness, closer to the woods. And the more the rush leaves, the more thoughts wash back into his mind, questions.

"Brienne?" he asks at last.

"Yes?" she looks at him.

"… Do you still have the cub? Back in King's Landing they said that maybe you didn't…," he whispers, not looking at her this time.

Brienne blinks, frowning to herself, noting the edge of terror in his voice.

Though it shouldn't come as a surprise.

"I still have it," she mutters. Jaime nods slowly, letting the words seep through his skin, letting the words soothe his aches.

The night does well to hide his tears, though it doesn't muffle his heavier breathing as the tears come and fall on dry soil. Brienne walks next to him silently, choosing not to call him upon it.

Because she gets it.

She knows his love for the cub as unconditional, so the fear that it may no longer be in this world may do that to someone like him, too.

Brienne knows that pain, she knows it now, and she doesn't wish that on anyone, not even on Jaime.

They eventually reach a place that looks safe enough to make camp for a few hours. Once they are settled, Brienne draws her knees up as far as she can with the growing stomach to lean her chin on her long limbs.

"Tell me, what happened on the ship?" Jaime asks at last. Brienne looks at him for a moment, knowing that this will likely be the only time that she will get to tell this fearful tale – and have someone believe her words.

"Everything was going according to plan. We made good progress on the sea. The wind was in our favour, everything was alright… but then, one night… I heard noises all of a sudden, and the torches went on. People started cursing… I sneaked out of my room to see what was going on. As I was on my way… I suddenly heard Sansa screaming…," she says, closing her eyes as she calls the images back to her mind:

* * *

Brienne whips her head around to the source of the noises, and the one noise she can't bear to hear.

"Sansa," she breathes, hurrying over to her cabin the fastest she can, but that is when Brienne sees two bulky men with brown and black hair pulling Tyrion behind him by the collar of his tunic. The small man thrashes, struggling against their grips. Brienne hides behind one of the corners. She waits until they are past her before she jumps out, her eyes meeting Tyrion's once, before she stabs both men from behind.

They fall to the ground like bags of flour.

"What is going on here?" she demands.

"I don't know, but we must get to Sansa," Tyrion says, not knowing what else to reply. One moment, he was fast asleep, the next, someone ripped him out of bed by the thatch of his hair and held a dagger to his throat. And here he thought that the worst that could happen would be to be seasick throughout the stay.

Brienne nods curtly and the two start to hurry to Sansa's cabin. The tall woman stops a moment and pulls up her tunic to reach beneath her dress. Tyrion frowns, but then sees that she produces a dagger out of a holster she has around her thigh. At some point he shouldn't be surprised that this woman seemingly even sleeps soundly only if she lies next to and upon protective steel.

She thrusts the dagger into his hands, "You should have something to guard yourself with."

Tyrion nods. He may not be well with weapons, but he will take anything that means a bit of protection.

"What about your squire?" Brienne asks, but Tyrion can only shrug. He doesn't know what happened to Pod. He just prays that the boy is alive. For that he holds him too dear after all. Brienne grimaces as they go on. She can't say that she knows the squire well, but she understood it that he was under her protection, too.

They find Sansa's cabin empty once they get there, so Tyrion suggests silently, "To the deck."

Brienne nods tightly before the two hurry outside – only to see Sansa being pulled by a band of men to one of the lifeboats.

"Let her go!" Brienne growls as she runs forward, swinging her sword, struggling against whatever man dares to come close to her.

"Brienne!" Sansa cries out, eyes wide. The man holding her tightens his grip on her, making the girl shriek.

"Don't you dare hurt her!" Brienne cries out, but that is when suddenly one of them has a dagger to Sansa's throat.

"Stop that!" Brienne barks, gritting her teeth.

"Step back and drop the sword," the man snarls, tightening his grip on Sansa, who can do nothing but stare at the other woman, fighting for composure.

"Fine! Fine! Just don't hurt her," Brienne says, knowing that she can't overpower these men singlehandedly.

"Drop the sword and slide it over to here," the man demands. Brienne does as she is told, not wanting to endanger Sansa, who stares at her with wide eyes, breathing hard.

However, that is when Tyrion makes an attempt to use his abilities, "If it's money that you want, I can get you a lot. A whole lot. I am a Lannister and a Lannister always pays…"

He gets a kick into the midsection, sending Tyrion to the ground with a thud.

"Tyrion!" the two women shriek.

"Leave him alone!" Brienne growls.

"The Imp is supposed to shut up," the man says, kicking the dwarf again. Tyrion barks, head biting into the wood of the deck's floor.

"What do you want with us?" Sansa asks, her voice trembling.

"We are supposed to get you and the Imp," the man holding her replies. "Which is what we'll do now."

Sansa lets out a shudder. And here she thought Tarth would be the next step in her life.

Brienne sets her jaw in a straight line, "And what do you intend to do with me? I may warn you that I'm not as easy to move."

"Oh, you won't be coming along," the man holding Sansa says. Brienne blinks, already meaning to lunge forward, but that is when another man emerges out of the shadows of the night and rams the handle of his sword against her stomach, taking Brienne's air away.

She can hear Sansa cry her name as she goes to her knees.

"Brienne! No!"

Brienne's head swims as she sees Sansa and Tyrion being pulled over the railing, into the lifeboats… and away.

"Sansa! Tyrion!"

But then the man delivers a final blow to her head, sending her to darkness.

* * *

"I would have fought them all, but they were too many," Brienne says, her mouth buried in the fabric of her sleeve as she goes on to tell her story.

She would have killed them all, she _will_ kill them all, but back then, she couldn't beat them.

"That is not your fault," Jaime assures her quickly, his face a sad grimace.

"They just took her, and your brother… and the squire, too, for all I know, if they didn't kill him at once. I couldn't protect them at all," Brienne shakes her head, looking miserable.

She failed to protect, _yet again_.

She seemingly can't protect anyone or anything.

"It's alright," Jaime reassures her once more. "But what happened after that?"

"When I came back around, I tried anything within my powers to escape, obviously…"

* * *

Brienne hisses when she opens her eyes, followed by a sharp intake of air as pain explodes in her body. Her hand is instantly on her stomach, fingers trembling to the point that her joints ache. Brienne tries her best to calm herself, controls her breathing to the best of her abilities. She looks down at her body… no blood.

Brienne sends a silent prayer to the Seven for seemingly protecting the cub, but then her mind kicks back into action.

She has to get out of here.

Brienne looks around, noting with a small smile that she is only bound by the wrists and feet, but they didn't care to bind her wrists in the back, seemingly believing her to be no more than a foolish woman wielding a sword.

Fools.

Brienne kicks off her boot, a small knife falling out.

 _Really_ , fools.

She picks it up and starts to cut the ropes biting into her wrists. At last, they come off and Brienne gets to her feet at once, though her head swims for a moment. The blow to the head surely was harder than she had hoped. Brienne makes her way to the small window. There is land in sight. Brienne contemplates. She cannot fend off so many men alone, even if only a few stayed on the ship. She has no weapons other than the small dagger, and the danger is more than real that someone will do harm to the cub. As much as she hates it, she cannot fight them all.

She has to retreat.

For now.

Brienne licks her lips, but then makes her way to the old wooden door and starts to work on the hinges with her small dagger. Once she is done, she positions herself squarely in front of the door and calls out, "Hey! Hey! I need help here! I am bleeding! I am with child and bleeding! Please! I need help! Help! Help!"

Brienne grimaces – this came out more believingly than she had feared.

After all, she is still no good lying.

Well, to other people at least.

She can hear someone grunting and keys being taken out, "Gods, women, _pregnant_ women no less! We should have just thrown her overboard."

The key is pushed into the lock. The man tries to open the door, but it won't open the right way.

"What…?"

Brienne jumps against the door with a feral growl at once, burying the man underneath it as the door comes out of its hinges, crashing down on the bulky fellow now buried beneath wood.

Another man approaches, but Brienne is fast enough to push the door away from the man to grab his dagger to charge the other. Gladly, the man is too surprised – and seemingly not very proficient with the sword, at least not enough to match her, so she can take him out despite her staggering walk and mind – and only a dagger in hands.

The tall woman disarms them before she pulls them into her cabin. She looks around, spotting the bundle she has been looking at in a long time, contemplating, but then deciding that she needs to take it along, or at least give it one chance to return to her. So she shoulders it with the strap around it, before exiting the room and putting the door back in place silently.

She sneaks down the corridors of the ship, but has to hide in the room with the maps once two approach. Brienne looks around, glancing out the small window. She can still see the land in the distance. That is her only shot, that's for sure. Brienne sees a candle still burning on the table.

That might work.

She pushes it over, the parchments easily catching fire. Brienne exits, grabbing a lantern as she goes, and makes her way to the deck. She hurries over to the one lifeboat still there, puts the bundle and the lantern in it, hoping that it will drift away fast, but not too far before she lets it out into the waters.

She can hear the men approaching and howling, seemingly having found out about her disappearance, so she hurries to the back of the ship, into the shadows. The men enter the deck.

"Find the bitch! She's supposed to land in Tarth!"

"Shit! She took the last lifeboat!"

"Over there! Over there!"

"We have to turn the ship and get her!"

"Then get on with it!"

"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

"HELP!"

Brienne climbs atop the railing – and jumps off into the black waters, the night swallowing her sounds, herself.

And the fire consumes the rest.

* * *

Jaime still stares as he hears Brienne's words.

"How did you make it to the shore?" he can't help but ask. On a lifeboat, no problem, but she _swam_ all the way to the settlement? While pregnant?

Brienne shrugs at him simply, "I grew up on an island. I could swim fifteen miles without taking a break since my ninth namesday."

"One should never underestimate you," Jaime can't help but say.

"No," she breathes.

Though one shouldn't overestimate her either, for she failed, failed miserably at what really matters – protection. Brienne only showed her skill to run, and that is nothing she prides herself with.

"Then what happened once you made it to the settlement?" Jaime asks, licking his lips.

"Well, with the cub, things weren't as easy as they were when I was at the age of nine… I collapsed by the shore. A fisherman found me and brought me to the local healer. I had started bleeding after all, but…," she says, puckering her lips. Brienne can hear the sharp intake of air from Jaime, so she goes on quickly "But the cub was alright, or so the healer told me once I woke up again. I asked them to send a message to King's Landing, to inform them about what happened… I think they did that, actually… A little while later, they found the lifeboat and took what was in it to their vault."

She looks up to the night's sky. If Brienne didn't know what terror is up to this point, it was the moment she felt crimson between her thighs and didn't know what would be with the small thing growning under her chest that she understood, truly understood what 'terror' meant. After all, she vowed its protection, and she meant it, _meant_ it, because Brienne loves this thing whose face she doesn't know, like her mother's. Even though she doens't see herself as a good mother by any means does she love this thing bringing her so much pain. Brienne can still recall how she screamed, screamed at whoever it was that she was with child and needed help. She didn't care if she sounded like a pathetic madwoman, the Seven, she didn't even care if she _was_ a madwoman by any chance. She just went on shrieking until the healer, the Seven may bless her for all days, told her that the child was alright, that it would live. Brienne won't ever forget the feeling of relief, fear, terror, and happiness as it mixed with her tears she didn't care to hide in front of the seasoned woman.

If that is what Jaime felt like only a bit over her departure to Tarth, she starts to get his desperation. Brienne never thought she could feel so much fear. She fought a bear with a wooden sword, but she would have fought ten bears with bare hands instead of going through this terror.

For it tears any sane thought away.

"I wanted to fetch a ship to Tarth… or even King's Landing, just away from there, but I needed to recover and… before I got a chance to, a raven arrived and informed everyone about the King's demise and they seemingly assumed that I was telling them lies about Tyrion and Sansa… or worse, assumed that I have to do with Joffrey's murder," Brienne goes on. "So they decided to keep me there and ask the Iron Throne for _guidance_."

Jaime nods wordlessly.

"The healer insisted that I wasn't taken to one of the prison cells because of the cub, but that was all she could do for me. They still set up all guards they had, you saw it… well, they wanted to get me to King's Landing the first chance they got, probably thinking they'd get a nice reward for delivering me to the Iron Throne, but then they got the mail that a band of investigators would be sent here…," Brienne licks her lips. "They arrived later on… and they only asked about the ship and why it had burned down, why _I_ burned it… they seemingly assumed that I was trying to hide evidence or so… they kept asking me the same questions, only to get the same answers. I didn't know what I was supposed to tell them other than the story I told you, which is the truth. But they didn't believe me. At some point they stopped asking questions and just waited for the next orders… and then… you arrived."

"Gods," Jaime bites his lower lip.

"I thought it would be safe for her to come with me, and now even Tyrion… and Podrick," Brienne sighs, her voice full of pain.

"Brienne, that was not your doing. Someone tricked us all," Jaime assures her.

"I know that I didn't do it, but… but this is the consequence now," Brienne insists. "This is reality now. All of it is."

"Yeah," he agrees solemnly.

"I have to find them," she grits her teeth.

"Don't you mean 'we'?" he grimaces. Brienne's shoulders tense at once, "I don't speak for you. You are free to do whatever you want."

"Brienne," he exhales, but she doesn't let him speak any further, "You freed me, for which I'm thankful, but don't you dare believe that I am one of the dumb geese who wait for a knight to come and save them from imprisonment in a tower."

After all, they don't live in fairy tales.

"I didn't mean it like that," Jaime argues, his voice meek.

"If you want to come along, you are free to do so, but if you want to return to King's Landing, then you are free to do that the same way," Brienne says stubbornly.

Though Jaime fully expected _that_.

"You can't do it all alone," he replies.

"If I always stuck to what other people said that I am capable of, I would still sit in Tarth, wearing a gown to make me look even more grotesque, and wait to be married off by my Father," Brienne retorts.

Brienne is used to beating expectations, stomping on them.

"I know," he sighs.

"So?" she looks at him.

"I ask you to let me fulfil my oaths," Jaime says with more determination now.

"That's cheap," she huffs.

"For as long as it works, I don't really care," Jaime shrugs.

He just has to be around her, easy as that, even if the only way there is by trick.

After all, that is one of the few things he is truly good at.

"What about the Kingsguard?" she asks.

"I left," he shrugs. "The Tyrells helped me escape."

"The Tyrells?" Brienne puckers her lips.

"Yes, even Loras, believe it or not," Jaime offers a crooked grin.

"I thought he hated me," Brienne wrinkles her nose.

"I don't think he likes you, but he seems to be a bit of a knight after all. And Margaery was steadfast in her support for you," Jaime tells her, if only to soothe some of the pain she must be experiencing. Brienne had no one to have her back, for all she knew, but Jaime wants her to see that she had support, even if she didn't know about it.

"I would have come earlier, had I known," he says.

"Why didn't you?" she can't help but ask, and it pains them both.

"I had made arrangements to spare you tribunal. My Father was supposed to handle the business. For your safety, I promised him to go to Casterly Rock as its Lord and marry the woman of his choice," Jaime replies.

Brienne looks at him.

He would have given up on the Kingsguard and become a Lord to wed whoever… to know her safe?

Or well, probably to know the cub safe after all…

"But then he died," Jaime goes on solemnly.

"What? He is dead?" she gapes at him.

"Yes, dropped dead on the shithouse," Jaime huffs with sad sarcasm dying on his lips.

Brienne blinks. She thought that man would only die in war – or by someone stabbing him when he least expected it.

"Well, and with him died any chance for me to make my lordship worth a bargain. Because that is nothing Cersei would want... Cersei now holds power, being Queen Mother and Tommen still being too young of age to rule properly, so she wanted to repeat the same she did before and leave me in the Kingsguard… And Cersei believes that you have to do with Joffrey's murder, so she wanted you to face tribunal in King's Landing to find you guilty and have you gone," Jaime admits.

Brienne nods slowly.

"The Tyrells helped me out to get on Lady Olenna's ship. I posed as one of her men. She is on the way to Tarth, to talk to your Father, upon Cersei's order. We've made arrangements that Cersei wouldn't know me gone straight away, and we took care of the ravens to buy a bit more time for me to get here," Jaime goes on. "And it seemingly worked… already due to the fact that news didn't reach you about my Father's demise."

"… I won't ever go there again, will I?" Brienne licks her lips, her voice trembling slightly. "To Tarth."

Because she _really_ wanted to go home, tell her Father about the troublesome but still to him wonderful news of an heir for him at last.

And now she won't ever see the sapphires of the sea again.

She won't ever see him again.

"Not until your name is cleared," Jaime agrees with a sad grimace.

"So never," Brienne sighs.

"Your name will be cleared, maybe not in this life, but it will be cleared," Jaime says.

He may never wash himself free of the name of Kingslayer written upon his forehead, but he shall be damned if she gets the same mark on her skin.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she argues weakly.

"I don't say that _I_ will manage, but someone will. The truth will come to light eventually, I'm sure of it," Jaime says. "But I am sorry that you can't go to see your home and your Father any time soon. Lady Olenna will tell him the truth, though. And I think he will be under her protection, too. The good thing is that he was not involved into anything, so they can't prove him much. He doesn't know where you are because you didn't make it there. So Cersei can't do much to him."

It's a meagre comfort at best, but Brienne nods, seemingly blowing it up to a bigger flame than Jaime believes it to be.

He will be safe.

Brienne shakes her head. At last she seemingly managed some kind of protection.

"Then where do we go from here, since that means we are both outlaws now?" Brienne asks.

"Well, we will have to keep it low for a while, not only because they will be chasing us, but also because of the cub," Jaime tells her.

"But we have to find Sansa," Brienne insists.

She promised her.

"At this point we won't manage much. We have to find Littlefinger," Jaime says.

"Baelish?" Brienne blinks at him. "What would we want with this man?"

"Lady Olenna implied that Littlefinger had to do with Joff's murder. Given the circumstances, I don't think it unlikely that he took Sansa… and then made you the culprit to push the evidence away from him," Jaime replies.

"How did she know?" Brienne asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of unshed tears and fury.

"I reckon she and Littlefinger both wanted Joff dead. She likely wanted to spare Margaery being married to Joffrey… though she didn't foresee _this_ , for all I know, for all she's said, or implied… And I take her word for true this time," Jaime says.

"Why?" Brienne asks.

"She didn't have to help us, and still she did. She has no gain from this, only risk," Jaime shrugs."All of them took a risk to get me here to you. I don't think they would have done that if they meant you harm. It seems more likely that they wanted to blame someone else, and Baelish played them by making you the culprit, given that he is the one behind this."

Brienne nods slowly, processing the information.

"Why didn't you kill her for… for Joffrey and… the rest?" Brienne asks.

"I told you once, I don't care for revenge. At some point I even understand that she wanted to keep Margaery safe from Joff. That boy was beyond the realm of control. And was I supposed to kill the one woman willing to help me to get to you?" Jaime shrugs. "I let it go. She does redemption now, I think… and I dare to believe in redemption after all."

However foolish that may be in face of his crimes that are seemingly truly past forgiveness.

"So… you don't want revenge on Littlefinger either?" Brienne asks. "If you don't care about revenge?"

"Oh, that man will suffer, a lot, and long, and painfully, I'll make sure of that," Jaime growls. "But we have to think about your safety now. They will come looking for us. And in your current state, you won't manage to ride a horse fast, or at all, just like you won't manage to walk endlessly. I don't know where Littlefinger's headed to. Though I reckon that the Vale is the next-best option, because he was supposed to wed Lysa for all I know. But that way is far."

"But if we wait, then…," Brienne objects, but Jaime shakes his head, "You know that I am right, as painful as it is. You have to put your safety first now, Brienne. Littlefinger wants Sansa alive, if he has her. That means she is safer than you and I at this point."

Brienne bites her lower lip.

"We will move in the direction the furthest we can, but we have to keep it low," Jaime says.

"But why do we seek the Kingswood? Shouldn't we fetch a ship the other way, up North?" Brienne asks.

"We'd have to take a ship by force or sneak our way in, but people know who we are around here. We are too close to King's Landing at this point. And at the sea, we have no way to escape. Here, we can hide if necessary. We will move westward past King's Landing, and then to the Vale. That seems to be the safest option at this point. The further we get up North, the better. Because people won't know us there – and the people of the North care little about what is going on here in King's Landing," Jaime replies.

"So we are on the run," Brienne grimaces.

"They will chase us. There will likely be a bounty on both our heads. It's dangerous for us here because we are still too close to King's Landing's clutches. I hope that changes once we travel up to the Vale, but until then… we have to repeat our story for a while, yes," Jaime agrees solemnly.

"You mean to secretly sneak through the woods again," she huffs. "Off the usual paths."

"Exactly," Jaime agrees.

Brienne tries hard not to laugh.

This is madness, isn't it?

They repeat the process.

Back to the beginning.

Just that she is now pregnant, and they are both haunted.

Is that the fifty-fourth knothole?

Or is it, by any chance, a chance indeed, for circumstances are changed now?

Because it isn't exactly the same tale that it was in the beginning, with a cub growing under her heart and them in shatters of the former days?

"I'm sorry, for all of it."

Brienne says nothing to that, just looks up to the stars, trying to count them to have them fixed inside her head. Because whenever she sees the stars, she comes to a different number, some obscured by clouds, some exposed only a night and then never again.

Stars are perhaps the only knotholes that hold hope these days, however meagre this hope may be.

"I'm sorry for both your losses."

"We will find Sansa."

"Yes, we will."

Both look up to the stars in silence, counting the possibilities, getting lost in their now shared madness.


	26. Trust and Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime are on the road. 
> 
> Jaime gives Brienne something. 
> 
> Trouble ensues. 
> 
> More conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this one ;)

And so, Brienne and Jaime find themselves on familiar yet unfamiliar paths as they wade through the woods.

Brienne was honestly relieved when Jaime gave her some breeches he was smart enough to bring along, and a more fitting tunic for her to wear.

That is how she feels most comfortable, however comfortable you can be while on the run – with child.

They mostly walk on in silence, Brienne occasionally grunting, and Jaime asking her repeatedly if she needs to take a rest, something she stubbornly denies _of course_.

Though at some point Jaime is honestly glad for the routine to fall back into. Brienne seems to be not more tensed than she is by nature, so for as long as she is annoyed at him, she seemingly doesn't hate him as much as she probably does.

Yet, the priority at this point is clearly on making sure that they aren't killed on their quest.

The rest will have to wait until later.

"Alright, I need a break," Jaime exhales at last, stopping in his tracks. Brienne rolls her eyes at him – she is smart enough to know that he tries to get his will to make her take a reset – even though she does not need it.

"The last time you did that, we had a sword fight, you know?" she says as she settles down begrudgingly. Jaime chuckles softly.

It's not the same as it was back when they were on their trip to King's Landing, but Jaime takes what he can get.

"I think I still owe you my thanks," she says, pulling Jaime out of his thoughts.

"If it's about me getting you out of the settlement, then…," Jaime means to argue, but she interrupts him before he gets to it, "I mean for… _this_."

She points at the black chest plate and mail she wears. While she doesn't bother to wear the full armour, it's better to have a few pieces on in case someone attacks them. The assault on the ship taught her painfully well that it takes just one strike in the right spot to dim the lights inside her head.

"Tyrion said that you had it made for me," she goes on uncertainly, her lips curling into a frown.

"The little devil," Jaime shakes his head with a grin.

 _Of course_ Tyrion did the opposite of what his older brother asked him for.

 _Of course_ he would tell Brienne about this despite the fact that the older brother told him otherwise.

The little demon.

Gods, he misses him.

Jaime just hopes that his brother was somehow swift enough with his tongue to talk himself out of the situation, though Jaime finds it unlikely at some point. Why would they want to leave Tyrion alive if they have someone to blame with Brienne? It seems more likely that they disposed of him so Sansa is "free" of the Lannisters.

But still, Jaime hopes. Tyrion always tends to surprise him, so why not one more time, right?

"So, ugh, thank you," Brienne says, licking her lips nervously.

"It's nothing," Jaime exhales.

Because he knows it is.

It didn't protect her from any of this here.

An armour doesn't offer protection beyond an enemy's blow. It is powerless against nature, against the japes of misfortune.

Against the power of words.

Those reach past any armour, right into soft flesh.

"I hope I got the measurements right," Jaime grimaces. "I told the blacksmith to make it fit even with a bigger stomach."

"Thank you," Brienne repeats.

"Speaking of which, I got something else for you," Jaime says before he goes for his sword belt to retrieve one of his swords he then holds out to Brienne. She frowns, uncertainly taking the sword from him. Golden hilt, _beyond_ richly ornamented, a lion's head in all detail for a pommel… She pulls the sword out of the sheath a bit to see the blade, gaping, eyes sparking, "Valyrian steel."

She only heard about them, but never did she hold one in her hands.

"Mhm," he hums.

One of the few gifts he found worth keeping – and now worth giving.

"It's yours," he goes on. Brienne stares at him, her blue eyes almost exploding as her breath hitches, "I, I can't accept that, no."

"Yes, you can," Jaime argues. "It's wasted on me at this point, because I can hardly wield a sword. Such a fine blade should be wielded by someone who can actually execute the task, and of us two, that's you. So you should have it. It was reforged from Ned Stark's sword. Now it'll be used to defend his daughter. I find that only right. So you'll take it."

"… I don't feel comfortable accepting that," she argues vehemently.

"Take it as a small act of redemption if that makes you feel better," Jaime shrugs. "And don't fret, I don't expect anything in return."

Brienne puckers her lips into a frown.

"And in any case, aren't you familiar with what a present is after all?" he says, echoing her words from a time in King's Landing when everything was not in pieces yet, when Jaime learned that kindness can come even from something as simple as a bit of silverware to use to cut his dinner.

Brienne grimaces, running her finger over the broad side of the blade, making the steel sing beneath her touch. Jaime is right, isn't he? It's a gift, perhaps the most wonderful gift someone has ever made her.

"I… uhm… thank you," she mutters.

"Once again, it's nothing. It would simply be a waste on me," Jaime sighs.

Brienne tears her head around suddenly, "Someone's coming."

Jaime pricks his ears, and in fact he can hear a few men busily chatting, riding on horses, or at least mules. Brienne puts the sword back in the sheath, hastily wrapping the belt around her waist as both get to their feet. They make their way further into the woods, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"I told you," she mutters.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs. "You got a fancy sword, so leave me be."

"Hey! You two over there!"

Brienne growls at Jaime. Both turn on the heel to see three men approaching, after they got off their mules.

"Good day to you, Ser," Jaime greets the three men in an overly cheerful manner.

"What are ye doing here all by yourselves?" one of them asks.

"Oh, we are just on our way to Fawton," Jaime replies quickly. "We've visited her family over in Felwood."

"Yeah, I bet. Let's make this quick. Ye give us all you have on you that's of value, and we may spare your lives," the man says, fingers wrapped around the sword, the others copying his movement.

"We don't have anything of value on us other than the horse, maybe, and that thing is old and stubborn as a mule," Jaime argues.

"Do ye want to play with us, really?" the man asks, retrieving his sword and wriggling it right before Jaime. He leans back slightly, though he doesn't drop his grin, "My friend, I'd appreciate it very much if you did not do that. I have a bad back, so bending backwards is not the best position for me."

"I don't care, just give us whatever you have on you," the man with the sword to his throat barks.

"Fine, fine," Jaime sighs. "Just let me get my pouch, alright? Hey!"

He whips his head around as one of the men wavers his dagger in front of Brienne, only inches from her body, "I just said that I'll give it to you!"

"We actually don't need you alive, ay? Then we can take everything," the other man missing a tooth muses, coming closer to Brienne with the pointy end of his dagger.

Things simply jump into motion after that. Jaime pushes the man in front of him away, using his metal hand as he draws his sword with his left.

It still doesn't feel right with this hand, at all.

Jaime just hopes that the surprise will be enough to buy him a small advantage, but to his dismay surprise doesn't help a poor aim and the speed of a snail, so the man who threatened Brienne only has to push back on the heel to strike back. Jaime manages to parry somehow, but when the man draws another dagger, Jaime has to realise that surprise really doesn't work as a plan.

Jaime can't help the cry as the man slashes his right arm with one of the daggers. Jaime means to lunge forward and simply wrestle the man to the ground, but that is when he hears the sound of steel, the old war song, and a blade whooshes past his head, solidly connecting with the man's side, the blade easily breaking through cloth and flesh. The man shrieks in pain, still staring at Brienne as she wields the sword expertly, as though the Valyrian steel was an extension of her arm. Brienne whirls around at once and strikes the man Jaime just knocked over with his metal hand, before she take out the one man left, who is seemingly still too shocked at the sight of a pregnant woman swinging her sword at him with such perfection.

Brienne breathes through her nose as she wipes the blood off of the sword before she puts it back into its sheath. Jaime gets up with a grunt, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replies simply. "I was not the one who was… defeated."

Jaime licks over his teeth, but decides to bite down the comment that means to escape his lips. Because she is right, had she not stepped in, he would have lost.

"We should better head further into the woods," he says.

"What about your arm?" she questions, and if Jaime is not mistaken, there is an edge of worry in her voice as she eyes the crimson staining his shirt.

"That can wait until later. It's not too deep, I think. We are still too close to the usual paths, as it appears," Jaime says as he gathers his sword – and whatever is of value that the men have on them.

"Do we really have to take their things?" she asks with a grimace.

Not that she feels pity for them, but Brienne knows that Jaime took with him quite a bit of money so they don't have to worry about that matter at least.

"It's better to leave folks under the impression that there are robbers around – and not some crazy murderers," Jaime replies. "And robbers take the money."

"We should hide them," Brienne makes a face.

"We'll pull them into the ditch over there," Jaime says, nodding at the ditch little away from them. The task is carried out quite fast, just as it is to cover them in leaves to make it not obvious that three men were just killed, in case someone comes looking for these bastards by any chance, though Jaime reckons not.

"Let's go," he says, straightening up. Brienne nods curtly before they start their way deeper into the woods, hoping that robbers won't roam around the deeper parts of the forest.

At last they find a nicely secluded place behind a small ridge to make camp for the nearing night. Jaime sighs as he settles down once they have set up the necessary things.

He frowns once Brienne towers above him, tilting her head at him, "Take off your shirt."

"Oh, wench, that's a bold move," he snorts, amused, but Brienne is having none of it, "Just do it, before I change my mind and just kick you after all."

Jaime shrugs out of his jacket and tunic with a wince, some of the blood already caked to the fabric. Brienne sits down next to him. Because of her growing stomach, she has to sit rather awkwardly next to him, and perhaps closer than she feels comfortable with. Brienne shakes her head. Now is not the time for such things.

Brienne extends her long fingers to inspect the gash, which is still lazily oozing blood. She pulls the last tatters of cloth away as carefully as she can.

"I think we should stitch that," she grimaces. "It's pretty deep after all."

Brienne turns slightly to reach for a small leather pouch. She starts to dig through it while holding out a leather drinking bag out to Jaime. He takes the uncapped bag to let some of the content drop into his mouth, his mouth curling into a grimace, "Blegh. That's strong."

"It has more alcohol in it, which means that it works better for wounds," Brienne replies. "The healer gave me some things to keep in my room after she had wandered off for a few days to gather herbs and the like. In case something was wrong or so. She didn't take it from me again. I reckon she wanted me to have it anyway."

Brienne takes the bag back to pour some of its content over the gash. Jaime grits his teeth. The blonde woman then takes out a threaded needle from her small leather pouch and starts to stitch his wound, her hands steady, the stitches accurate from years of self-administered patching up.

Brienne only trusted a healer at best, and even those she observed with careful eyes, but never a fellow sword when she still served under Renly. One can never know what they'd want in return for that bit of service. So Brienne learned very early on to patch herself up.

Jaime tries his best not to wince, though sometimes he can't help it when it pulls on the torn skin too much.

"We will stay away from the towns and roads further from now on," she grimaces, her eyes fixed on his arm as she continues with her work. "We can't have that happening all the while. Leaving a trail of bodies behind is not smart either."

"I reckon that this would be for the best, yes," Jaime agrees.

"I still ask myself how you ever managed to overpower the investigators – with such a performance," Brienne blurts out saying, though Jaime knows that she doesn't mean it much as an offence, but simply as something she can't figure out.

"I had the element of surprise on my side," Jaime shrugs.

"The next time something like that happens, you should just duck for cover and let me handle it… and now don't come me with 'you are pregnant'. You didn't stand a chance against them, let's face it," Brienne argues.

"No, I didn't, which is not at all helpful for the ego…," Jaime huffs.

"They could have killed you, and dead you are no use," Brienne says, not looking at him, before she goes on in a lighter tune, or rather one that doesn't hold as much emotion within. "We have to be careful, especially if we have to keep away from bigger towns most of our time. If this wound gets infected, you'll perish, that is unless I drag you to town, and then we both might perish, for as long as it's around King's Landing."

"So let's hope it doesn't get infected," Jaime winces as she wraps his wounds with fast movements.

"Hope doesn't buy us anything," she argues solemnly.

"In fact not," Jaime sighs.

"That should hold," Brienne says as she finishes the knot.

"Thank you," Jaime says.

"It's nothing," she replies, giving a curt nod. "Just… don't do such reckless things again."

"I will certainly try," he tells her as he pulls the tunic back over his shoulder with a grimace. "Though I can't make any guarantees. I'm a fool of a man after all."

"And I am a fool of a woman, so we have to make the smartest decisions possible," Brienne shrugs as she gets up to wash her hands off of his blood.

"Well, let's just hope that the cub won't be as much of as a fool as we are," Jaime huffs.

"Oh, Gods forbid," Brienne makes a face. "But at least we are two fools with a bloody marvellous sword. Had I struck harder, I think I would have cut the man in half."

"I saw that as well, much to my own surprise. It's one thing to hear about the effectiveness of Valyrian steel, another to witness it first-hand," Jaime agrees.

"It is one of its kind," Brienne says, but then bites her lower lip.

"Just say it," he tells her, making the tall woman frown at him, so he goes on to explain, "I know that face you make. You want to say a touchy thing, but contemplate with yourself if it doesn't go too far. So just go ahead. I won't hold any grudges, for I am in no position to."

"You shouldn't try to play hero," she says eventually. "That won't get you anything other than a fast death."

If he thinks that this will make her forget, then… but it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter.

"I wasn't playing hero, I was trying to protect you," he argues. "Though of course I failed miserably at the task, I know, but that was my intention."

"You shouldn't do that," Brienne replies.

"Well, that will be hard to simply let go, I reckon, but just to say it once more, my motive is not to play hero. I know that I am anything but that. If at all, I will do my best to earn your trust again," he goes on.

"Earn my trust again?" she repeats, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He knows that this is a word she doesn't use easily – and it is something he still broke, knowing its fragility.

"You need someone to rely on, and at this point, there is just me available, sorry. You can't fight the world all alone, Brienne. You need someone to have your back… and I know how comedic it sounds coming from a backstabber like me, but… I am willing to work for it so that someone like me can have your back without you constantly checking it. So yes, I'm trying to earn your trust again, with however much success that will be now," he tells her. "But I'm enough of a mule to try again and again. I think I brought enough proof for my apparent stubbornness already."

They go on in silence for a while until Brienne speaks up again, "Do you miss King's Landing?"

Jaime blinks, focusing his eyes on her. He didn't expect her to tackle that issue so early on.

"No," he says, fully aware that it's not King's Landing they are talking about, but the woman in that city who had him in her fangs all the while.

"Well, homesickness only comes once you are gone for a longer while, I reckon," she mutters. Jaime means to say something in return, but she is quicker, "I will see about some firewood. You stay here. I'll keep within eavesdrop."

"… Alright," he grunts.

Well, so much to that…

* * *

The next day, Jaime busies himself going over the maps another time. He wants to be sure that they travel the right direction. Because walking on aimlessly is anything but what they need. While they will have to jump back and forth to hide from others, they have to keep the general direction – and be aware of what towns they will come across.

Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts when suddenly, a sword in its sheath is thrusted against his chest.

"Hey!" he curses at Brienne, who only rewards him with a grunt.

"Get up," she says, her jaw a straight line.

"Why?" Jaime demands. He knows in fact that he didn't say anything nasty to her. They barely spoke more than five words this morn.

"You are useless," she says, nudging against his shoulder, seemingly to make him move.

"I beg your pardon?" he makes a face.

"You are useless," she repeats.

"Well, thank you, I suppose?" Jaime frowns.

"Get up," Brienne says once more.

"State your intention and not just commands followed by accusations, my lady. I have quite a trouble catching on to what you are trying to tell me," Jaime replies, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"You can't wield your sword properly enough to be of any use in battle. Yesterday showed it," she explains.

Jaime looks to the side.

Yet another burden on his shoulders.

Another burden of shame and inability.

Just how long does it take until his last bit of honour is swept away by the sea?

"Well, I'm down a hand. That makes wielding a sword a little difficult," he huffs. "You may have noticed."

"So get up," she tilts her head to the side.

Brienne made up her mind – and is now set on carrying out the task.

After all, she is a bullhead, too.

And no matter how much she hates it, a truth was spoken by the campfire, a truth she fears she has to act upon no matter how much she would rather run the other direction.

There is just ahead.

"To do what?" he demands.

"Act like a man again," Brienne says with determination in her voice.

"I am trying to stay nice, dearest, but you make it incredibly difficult at times such as these," Jaime sighs, but Brienne is absolutely serious, "Train, learn to use your left hand better than your right."

"That's easier said than done, darling," Jaime snorts. She pulls him up by the collar, "Come."

"Truly a lady," Jaime chuckles. Brienne takes up one of the swords they took from the men who attacked them for herself – after all, she wouldn't mean damage to the marvellous sword Jaime gave her – and holds it in her left, too.

"Look, if you want to hit me once more, then just do it," Jaime rolls his eyes. She hit him a few times, if not very hard, ever since they started their quest. Not that this is something Jaime isn't used to. While he knows this woman capable of soft and tender moves, she can be quite brutal otherwise.

"No, not this time," she replies.

"So?" he cocks an eyebrow at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I ask you to learn to become the second best sword fighter in the world," Brienne says.

" _Second_?" he makes a face.

"There's still me," she shrugs.

"Ah, but I am sorry to deceive your hopes: I cannot wield the sword the way I used to. I am literally missing a hand," Jaime argues.

"And that is why you will train, with me," Brienne replies simply. "It's as you said yesterday night. There is just you and I, so I am the only one available for you who can train with you."

"Aha," he curls his lips.

"I will learn to wield the sword with my left hand the same way. If I can learn it, then so can you," Brienne goes on.

"If you think that this will motivate me in some way, then…," he means to say, but Brienne is quick enough to interrupt him, "No, I only demand from you what I demand from myself. If I can learn it, then I can tell you to learn it, too. If a woman can learn it, then the former Lord Commander should have little trouble. It's just that simple."

"Your logic is unbeatable at times," Jaime huffs, if amused.

"I ask you to take that seriously," she hisses, her eyes suddenly on fire.

"Take _what_ seriously?" Jaime asks, the grin fading from his face at once.

"To relearn the arts of wielding the sword," Brienne says. "You say you are useless, and at this point you _are_ useless in battle. But the thing is that people can change something about the circumstance of being useless if they try just hard enough. You can stop being useless if you make yourself something of use again. For that, you only need a purpose – and the will to work for its fulfilment."

Jaime looks at her, stunned, so she goes on, "You say you want to protect us, the cub and me. And I believe you that. So that's your purpose. I can protect myself most of the time about alright, but… I had to realise that I may not always be able to protect the cub. You are right with what you said yesterday… I can't do it all alone. So that's where you come in, where you have to come in, to… have my back. So if you mean it with any sincerity that you want to stop being useless, then be of use again, for the cub's sake already. And you can make yourself useful if you know how to protect it with this."

She nods at the sword.

That is the language she speaks.

That is the one language Brienne always understands.

And at some point, it is the one language she feels safe with communicating through.

"Brienne," Jaime means to say something, but she doesn't let him, "You said that you'd try to earn my trust again. So take that chance to get some of it back."

Jamie just looks at her, biting the inside of his cheek.

Her logic isn't just unbeatable – it beats right on-target.

"So take up the sword," she says again.

"You are…," Jaime nods at her stomach, and Brienne completes, "Wearing the armour you gave me, and another cushion in case your aim is that badly off. And rest assured, each time you hit me close to there, I will hit you in turn, a lot worse, so that it doesn't happen again. So, take up the sword and get in position."

Jaime finds his mouth flexing into a smile, "Yes, my lady."

And so they get to work, to use.


	27. Claims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's sword needs a name. 
> 
> Jaime needs something to disappear. 
> 
> Other stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I hope you'll like this short chapter ;)

"Looks like we made good progress today," Jaime says, sitting by the campfire. "I didn't think we'd make it that far so fast."

"And no robbers this time," she snorts, cleaning the sword Jaime gave her.

"That surely is a success," he chuckles softly, wincing as he eases against the stone he prepped up against.

One should never underestimate a pregnant woman, wielding a sword with her weak hand. Jaime has clue how she does it, but Brienne is actually not the almost bad with her left, and while her aim is about as awful as his, she surely has some good amount of sheer force in her blows, which earned him more than one bruise.

Though Jaime can't deny how good those bruises start to feel at the prospect of handling a sword properly again, of offering protection. It almost feels like in his younger days, when he was still just a knight, his head full of ideals, and he took any bloody nose, any gash, any wound, any scar as a token of his bravery, as a success in small.

"You know, the blade won't become any cleaner than it did for the past hour you've spend polishing it," Jaime grins, amused at the care with which she handles the weapon, as though it was a treasure.

"It has to stay in good shape," she argues stubbornly.

"You still have to name it," Jaime then says, making Brienne look over to him with a huge frown, "What?"

"You have to name it, the sword," he repeats, nodding at the blade. "They say the best swords have names. And this sword proved to be one of the best already. So? Any ideas?"

Brienne cranes her neck, contemplating.

A name is a way of claiming things.

Be it a nickname or just a word you use to refer to a thing.

You capture it with a fishnet, bring it to the shore, to you.

You give it a name to make it yours.

You claim it as yours.

You make it yours.

And that is an act one should not do easily, so Brienne believes, since with possession there comes responsibility. If you make something yours, you have to tend to it, you have to polish it, make sure it stays in shape, stays healthy and alright.

Claiming something as yours means to take responsibility for it – since it is yours, then.

You have to pull it out of the fishnet and tend to it.

You have to keep it.

Keep it with you.

Keep it safe.

Naming is a vow, if in small.

"Oathkeeper," Brienne says at last, but after a few seconds, her mouth flexes nervously, echoes creeping back to her.

Oaths hide and obscure…

Oaths don't hold strong against reality, like ideals in general…

Oaths might be a chainmail too tight for anyone to fit into…

Oaths are a cheap excuse for reality not treating you kindly…

Oaths are lies…

"I mean, it's… maybe…," she stutters, but Jaime interrupts her, "I think there is hardly a more fitting name for it."

"But…," Brienne blinks at him.

"What I said about oaths is something you should just forget about, or not take to heart. I said it in the heat of an argument, and I was mistaken. Oaths are good things. People are sometimes just not good enough to meet them, but that's on another page. In any case, they are real and they are worth striving for," Jaime tells her. "So you should keep that name for it. You won't find a better one."

Brienne looks at him for a long moment, her eyes shimmering with emotions neither one can tell apart. At last she pulls her gaze back to the blade sitting in her lap.

"Oathkeeper," she repeats, running her fingertips over the blunt side of the blade.

She claims it as hers.

It's hers.

And maybe she even grasps her oaths a little tighter along with it.

Jaime studies her for a moment before he gets up from his seat. Brienne frowns as he walks over to her, grabbing inside his jacket. He stops before her to hold out a slip of parchment. Brienne takes it with a grimace, "What is that?"

"You should recognise it. It's yours," Jaime replies. Brienne looks at the parchment as she unfolds it.

Oh, _that_.

Brienne sets her jaw in a straight line, ready to defend herself in case he means to accuse her of it.

"If you want to blame me for it, then…," she means to say, but Jaime holds up his left hand, "I don't. It was a smart decision, well, it was until everything else happened. And I must give you that much, the story is even convincing."

Brienne blinks. He doesn't blame her for the lie about the cub not being his? That is what she honestly expected. She expected him to be raging – and at some point, back when she wrote it, a part of her, dark and obscure, probably felt a paining kind of satisfaction, a tiny bit of spite that she used a lie at last as well. After he lied to her, or rather, exposed lies to be the reality they live in.

She didn't write it with the intention to hurt Jaime, that couldn't be further from the truth. She did it to protect the best she could in her situation, but in the end… maybe she wanted it to sting after all.

And for that, he surely would have reason to blame her.

"I guess I am better to lie on paper than in reality," Brienne shrugs. "Then my face doesn't give the lie away at once."

"And still, it's a lie…," Jaime exhales.

"Then why are you giving me this?" she asks.

"I took it along because I didn't want to know a written statement of that kind in my sister's hands. Only the Seven would know what she'd manage to do with it," he says. "And to tell the truth, I don't like the thought of such a paper to exist in the first place. Even if I made many mistakes, the cub's half mine, too. I don't want a statement to claim the opposite."

He had to state it his too often already, had to repeat it again and again to deaf ears that this is his and that he loves it thus.

He wants to claim this child as his, in contrast to the three times he didn't and maybe even couldn't. He wants it to be his – because it is.

"I understand that, but why are you giving it to _me_?" she grimaces. "Why didn't you just shred or burn it?"

"Because it's up to _you_ , easy as that. You can keep it or do with it however you please. It's not my decision," Jaime replies solemnly.

He knows he is in no position to make claims, to claim possession, no matter how much he would like to, maybe even needs to.

At some point Jaime still fears that he forfeited the right of claiming possession with all the mistakes he has made ever since in King's Landing, if not long before that.

However, that is when he can see Brienne leaning forward and tossing the parchment into the small flame, which instantly reaches higher, as though the lie blew out its venom to make the fire rise to the sky above and away.

"It is yours, too, no matter what happened or will happen," Brienne says, not looking at him, eyes fixed on the small flame as the parchment rolls up and turns black as the fire eats her little lie greedily.

It is his, and in her head, Brienne never claimed it as someone else's, for she knows the truth after all. She only claimed it on paper, and now that this paper holds no protection anymore, it has no use, so it must go, and with it all the little blotches of spite captured in the ink.

It's theirs.

That is no lie.

That is truth, one of the few that hold any significance, if only to themselves.

"Thank you," Jaime replies, his voice slightly shaking, before he settles down again, glancing at the fire as it consumes the words taking his possession away, burns it away until only his possession remains after all.

Because it is his, too.

It's his.

It's his.

His.

They watch the fire silently, each lost in his or her own realm of thoughts, claiming spaces inside their heads without giving them a name.

* * *

The next morning comes with fast strides, and soon they are off to travel further on the path to the Vale – and hopefully Sansa Stark.

"… My, my, wench. If we keep it up with the training like that, I won't be able to travel far in the future. My body is one huge bruise," Jaime says as he readies the horse.

"Complaining won't make you improve," she says as she packs in her last things, but then pauses for a moment as she lets the words he just said play through her mind once more.

Naming things is a way of claiming them.

You give a thing a name to make it yours.

And however wrong the nickname of "wench" may be, it is a name.

So does that mean Jaime claimed her with that already?

Or does again?

But then again, people named her before. Brienne the Beauty, for instance. And the people who called her that did not possess her, she made sure of that, because she didn't accept that name.

But… Brienne accepted this one.

And even now, she didn't reject it.

And still doesn't…

Is she being claimed?

Or just possessed?

"C'mon now, the way is long, wench," she can hear Jaime holler. Brienne closes her pouch and shoulders it before hurrying after him.

She seemingly is being claimed.

And possessed.

Though she reckons it might be a devil possessing her after all, for thinking such stupid things, but the thoughts soon leave her as she focuses on walking – and answering questions Jaime asks, seemingly having decided that it's time for endless conversation now.

Brienne's fingers curl around the sword's… Oathkeeper's grip.

Names and words are all seemingly fishnets in the end.

They capture you.

And hopefully, they make you keep things, too.


	28. Coins and Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne continue their quest. 
> 
> Brienne flips coins. 
> 
> They later go to sleep. 
> 
> Other things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around and commenting and kudoing! You guys are amazing - and astonishingly motivating. 
> 
> I just have to go on and on and on with this fanfic ;)

Jaime tilts his head to the side, watching Brienne as she… flips one of the coins he brought along, for almost an hour now. They found a place to make camp for the night. It's behind a small mound that shields them from view at least from one side.

Gladly, there were no great interferences ever since the run-in with the robbers in the beginning of their quest up North, and away from King's Landing. They had to sneak away fast a few times, especially once they came closer to the outer rim of the woods, but they managed to get away without anyone's notice before they could be discovered.

If the Gods were against them all the while before, they are at least on their side when it comes to their voyage so far, beside the good progress they make. And Jaime hopes that it will stay that way.

And at some point, after they had prepared everything to make camp for the night, Brienne just started flipping coins, completely absorbed into the task. It's during moments such as these that Jaime realises that she is younger than him after all. It's strangely fascinating how this woman can be absorbed into one monotonous task for hours. While Brienne can be a real hotspur if she wants to be, she also has something strangely calm about herself when she does these things – much to Jaime's annoyance.

"Alright, I bite, why are you flipping coins? Other than to pass the time – and possibly bypass conversation with me?" Jaime can't help but ask eventually.

Because that is what he reckons to be one of the reasons for her focusing oh so idly on the flipping of coins. That means Brienne doesn't have to look at him and can sneak her way out of any conversation. But Jaime is not enough a fool not to get that cue, and he is too much of a bullhead to simply let that slip.

Because flipping coins doesn't solve anything.

The dragon only goes up and down and up again, but by no means forward.

Brienne looks up, snapping the coin with her right hand, "I figured it might be a good way to train the left side. You train to grip something at once, your reflexes, and you hone your fine motor skills."

"At some point I fear that we never should have started you on something like this. You are obsessive, my lady," Jaime huffs.

At some point one should think that women bearing a child would be not _lazy_ , but, let's say, settle down, seek a bit of calm, a bit of peace, especially with the war that rages about them, within them, but not so Brienne of Tarth. If Jaime didn't force her to take breaks, be it training or walking, the wench would walk until she collapsed, he knows. The mule she is, Brienne is by no means holding back in training, and tries Jaime again and again not to go easy on her.

While she doesn't do anything to endanger the cub, Brienne is seemingly still hellbent on doing everything the way she used to, before she was pregnant, if only to prove herself to _whoever_. Because Jaime can't imagine that she is trying to prove herself to him, for there is absolutely no need for it. If anyone has to prove himself to someone else, it's Jaime. She can't mean to prove it to the cub either, so it's probably the entire world Brienne tries to prove wrong yet again, or tries to prove to the rest of the world that she is anything but one of the usual pregnant women. That she can wield a sword with might. That she can fight. Can walk endlessly. Go on as she did when she was without child.

Jaime admires her passion and will to fight, for he never found such a strong work ehtics and wish to serve in a lifetime that was filled with meeting many more or less virtuous knights, but he could also constantly roll his eyes at Brienne for her stubbornness.

Because Brienne is so used to stomping on expectations and limits others tried to set for herself that she tends to ignore her apparent boundaries, if only on the physical level.

But then again, it shouldn't come to him as a surprise, Jaime knows. That is how Brienne appeared to him ever since they were _introduced_ , more or less.

"What? I am just… training something that I can without exhausting the cub too much," Brienne argues vehemently. She can't do much swords training tough she is more than willing to, but Brienne had to realise again and again that it gets more difficult with every time she feels her stomach growing. Not to mention that she feels more exhausted – and actually has to agree to Jaime's suggestions of taking a rest more than once in a while.

And she hates it.

Because she feels weaker as a result.

While Brienne tries her best to give Jaime a chance to act upon the promise he made to her in the beginning of their quest, of trying to earn her trust to have her back again, Brienne still rather has her back herself. Even before Jaime stepped into her life, Brienne was used to doing things on her own.

In fact, to let someone have her back is still something alien to Brienne.

She never had someone to blindly rely on.

She was someone others could blindly rely on, if only in terms of her devotion, because Brienne knows that those people she swore to support died way too fast, and without her there to have their backs. Yet, Brienne would have died for them, would have had their backs, had she been there in time. And that is something she never had for herself. Brienne always had to watch people from the corner of her eye, and even though she knew about that circumstance, she still fell for trick and mockery too easily, time and time again.

So yes, Brienne hates the feeling to let go of those defences.

She hates the feeling to let go, or well, no, she feels unsure about doing it now. There was a brief time when she found it quite liberating to let go, but Brienne found out that letting go meant risk, and that this risk came with a lot of pain, a lot of painful words and half-truths mixed with actual truths.

So to let go now seems even harder than it was in the beginning, and during that time, Brienne actually still deemed it impossible for herself to ever really let go.

"You _are_ obsessive," he snorts amused. Brienne puckers her lips, but chooses not to comment.

At some point she reckons that she really is, but Brienne found that one of the few upsides of the travel. The prospect of learning something new, which will help them both to protect the cub, is something very tempting for her. After she failed to protect so much and so many times before, it gives her more than a good feeling to gain more confidence in her skills again – and in Jaime's likewise.

Because Brienne knows that she is not the only one who finds pleasure in the training, or at least in the prospect of offering more protection. For that, Jaime grins too much while they train.

And it's honestly a nice distraction from what still looms above their heads, and the conversations she knows hang before Jaime's lips, threatening to spill out whenever she dares to look at him for too long.

And Brienne doesn't feel ready for that yet, at all.

She wouldn't know what to say in the first place.

"So what?" Brienne shrugs.

"I simply reckon that you remind me too much of myself when I was still younger," Jaime snorts. Brienne makes a face before starting to flip the coin again, making Jaime roll his eyes, "That had to come."

Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders, flipping the coin higher and higher with her left.

"Now you are just trying to show off."

"… This is ridiculous. Fine, give me a coin, too. The only way to make you stop is to beat you in your own game after all."

"Very much like you, huh?"

"You are asking a bullhead of a man for a competition, what do you expect to happen, woman?"

* * *

Later the night, the two lie next to each other on their rather meagre beds for the night. Jaime is curled in on himself, facing away from her – upon her, let's say, _request_ , though 'barked command' is closer to reality. While Brienne knows that lying next to each other helps keeping warm during the night, she still means to show Jaime that nothing much is fixed between them concerning these things.

She accepts his acts of redemption – and his acts of earning her trust again, but Jaime knows that trust is something hard to build up, even harder to rebuild – and foregoes everything else at this point.

He needs her to trust him again.

Coupled with the premise of her being pregnant, Brienne hence gets pretty much whatever the lady desires, for as long as it is within Jaime's capabilities, not posing a threat to herself, or completely outrageous. While Jaime doesn't walk around like a kicked puppy, and instead revived the kind of banter they had before they reached King's Landing, he stands his ground against her, if bowing, _slightly_.

Because he doesn't want just trust again, he wants to have a truce.

And a truce means that both can look each other in the eye again.

Jaime is ripped out of the realm of his nearing dreams when what he reckons to be Brienne's forearm forcefully knocking against his side.

"Jaime!"

"Argh! Stop that! I was just about to fall asleep, dammit!" he growls into the roll stuffed under his head, but Brienne pushes him again, her voice suddenly with an edge of worry that wakes Jaime from any sweet dream whatsoever, "I think something is wrong with the cub."

"What?" he gasps, sitting up at once.

That is the one alarm needed to bring him right back to reality.

"I don't know, it's, something is... feels different… I don't know," Brienne replies uncertainly, her voice a little higher than it usually is, which is surely a bad sign.

Jaime grimaces, quickly pressing the flat of his hand against her abdomen, eyes wide, a million thoughts raining down on him at once.

That can't be, right?

They can't just progress well the one day, and then something like that hits them, can it?

Can it?

But that is when Jaime's shoulders drop at once, his features easing.

Brienne stares at him, waiting for him to say something.

"The cub is alright," he tells her.

"But…," Brienne mutters, glancing down at her womb, but then grimaces, curling her full lips.

"The cub _kicks_ , Brienne. That is nothing to worry about. That is natural and just the way it is supposed to be," Jaime replies. Brienne blinks a few times, frowning, "Oh, so that's what it does…"

Her gormlessness doesn't ever cease to amaze Jaime, or rather, the fact that it amazes him so much doesn't cease to amaze him.

"Haven't you read that in your books?" he huffs sarcastically.

"It didn't really give a specific description of what it would feel like… inside," she argues vehemently. "How am I supposed to know?"

The books stated _what_ happens, but there was not one book that described _how_ it would feel inside her body, so how is Brienne supposed to tell that this is something natural? And not yet another threat to the cub's wellbeing?

The last time she felt something that was out of the usual, she had blood between her thighs, by the Seven!

"If I didn't know better, I'd still think you are a man sometimes," Jaime chuckles softly, if only to resolve some of the tension lying in the air.

"And you a wench," she retorts, but then knits her eyebrows. "But how do _you_ know?"

"My mother showed me when she had Tyrion," Jaime replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"And then there is Cersei," Brienne tilts her head to the side with a sign on her lips.

Why did she even bother to ask?

"She never let me," Jaime argues, however, making Brienne stare at him, "What? Why?"

"I don't know. I just wasn't supposed to. I never asked either," Jaime admits, his lips curling involuntarily.

"Oh," Brienne replies, pursing her lips. Jaime tries hard not to laugh at her reaction.

"Didn't you ever do that with your siblings when your mother had them?" Jaime asks.

"It may have been, but I don't remember," Brienne replies bluntly.

Jaime can still vaguely remember who fascinated he was by that sensation against his fingertips when his mother had Tyrion – much to Cersei's anger and disappointment. While no one could tell by that time that their mother would die giving life to the youngest of Tywin's children, Cersei was already very unhappy about their mother having another child. She used to say to Jaime in private that they should be enough and that there was no more need for other children, which is why she wanted nothing to do with Tyrion, even when he was still growing under their mother's heart.

Jaime, by contrast, was actually quite enthusiastic at first, if only in secret not to upset Cersei, but he was looking forward to a younger sibling… but then their mother died, and that made all the happiness disappear somehow.

Suddenly, it was not about a filled cradle, but about an empty bed.

It was no longer about a life given, but a life taken.

Jaime feels yet another flutter brushing against his fingertips, finding himself smiling like an idiot. He really almost forgot, but now the feeling is right back, if not stronger.

Because that is his own child.

That is his child moving there, living there.

And after he had to fear for an achingly long time that it was dead, it feels ever the greater to now have proof for the life growing under Brienne's heart, twisting and turning, readying for the world.

"I surely missed out on something, I almost forgot," Jaime muses, but then catches himself.

While Brienne agreed to him claiming their child as half his, too, he shouldn't ignore that he is stepping past his limits when it comes to the woman bearing it. Because it is her body, and Jaime fears he forfeited any right to claim this body as his, if only a half of it, as he maybe could have back when they were just lying on moss, back when King's Landing still seemed so far away.

"I… am sorry, I shouldn't…," he grimaces, already meaning to withdraw from her, but that is when Brienne whispers into the night, "It's alright… if you want. It's yours, too, after all."

Jaime looks at her for a moment, but can't make her out in the dark, though he reckons that if he was to see her now, she'd have her eyes averted, blushed on both cheeks, though Jaime knows better than to call her upon it, or even worse, tease her for it. Jaime knows a step forward when he sees one, and that is a mighty jump in hopefully the right direction.

It is a move forward after all.

"Thank you," Jaime tells her in all earnest as he places his palm on her abdomen again, feeling the flutter beneath his fingertips, right where the child is kicking, living, preparing to come out into the world.

That lion cub is already shuffling its paws for the world that lies beyond this womb.

And Jaime can't even wait for the cub to roar at the world.


	29. Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a POV from someone othe than Jaime and Brienne. 
> 
> Jaime and Brienne find themselves a place to stay the night in a tavern. 
> 
> Conversations... 
> 
> Among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I am sorry that updating took me that long, but I had some figuring out to do as to how I want to proceed with the story. I hope it will go better with the writing than it did the past few weeks. Somehow, it never sounded right to me, which added to my frustration. 
> 
> I hope the characterizations of the minor characters are not too OOC. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Sansa leans her head against the cushion of the carriage hopping up and down on the uneven road to the Vale. Ever since the night she was taken away from the ship leading to Tarth, time has been a blur for the young Stark daughter. On the night before that incident, Lady Brienne had told her about the Sapphire Isle and its countryside, about the mountains and valleys, the forests and patches of rich green grass, of the high stone cliffs, and the blue of its waters that earned it its byname. While Lady Brienne is usually not the person to talk a lot or end up musing, Sansa was fascinated by her rather vivid descriptions and the swell of pride in the blonde woman's chest as she went on about her home, because the young Stark daughter feels a similar kind of warmth spreading throughout her when she thinks of _her_ home, Winterfell.

But all the landscapes Sansa dared to picture in her dreams disappeared the moment she was fetched off the ship and pulled into the darkness of the sea – only to be brought on-board another ship – and then before Lord Baelish.

For a moment, Sansa thought she was seeing a ghost, but then he went on to try to soothe her, because the young Stark daugther found herself yelling at him, cursing at him. She demanded to know what happened to Lord Tyrion and his squire, what happened to Lady Brienne, and the child, which she didn't mention, of course, not wanting to expose her pregnancy to anyone else. However, the answers she got did little to reassure Sansa. If at all, they only upset her further to the point that she couldn't breathe.

That Lord Tyrion was disposed to get her away from the Lannisters.

That Lady Brienne would serve as the culprit for her disappearance so they could simply disappear to the Vale without further interruptions.

And that Lord Baelish considered and still thinks himself her hero for getting her off that ship. That he considers himself a hero for bringing her to her aunt Lysa, whom Sansa has never met before.

"How long will you continue to treat me with silence?" Baelish exhales, looking at her rather wearily.

While Sansa knows that she can't do much to get out of the situation, she said to herself that the least she could do was to make her discontent known – because she didn't ask for this, _any_ of this, and _that_ is what she wants Lord Baelish to understand, if only by means of sparse interaction.

She is not good at talking, so why not make her not-talking a weapon after all? Lady Brienne told her that this was one of the main aspects of being a good knight, to be able to adapt to a situation and make a weapon out of whatever it is that you have. Sansa has her silence, so she will use it.

Well, that is the idea at least...

"You sought me out before, remember?" he goes on. "You asked me to get you out of King's Landing."

"And _that_ proved to be a fatal mistake on my behalf," Sansa retorts, though she keeps her voice levelled, distant.

"Do you sincerely believe that the dwarf was interested in your in the slightest? You are aware that he belongs to the same clan who doomed your family?" Baelish goes on.

"The same clan you openly supported and still support," she snorts.

Sansa is no smart thing, she knows that, but she is not _that_ dumb.

"I do that because I have no other choice. Politics demand a certain degree of concession and secrecy as to one's true intentions. I truly had no choice but to support them," Petyr argues. Sansa tilts her head to the side, "Maybe Lord Tyrion had no choice either? For he was _born_ into that clan?"

"Is that what he said to you?" Baelish huffs.

"No, if you mean to make that argument, it would apply to him the same way, easy as that," Sansa shrugs. Baelish leans forward in his seat to look at her, "Lady Sansa, think about it. What was this whole idea about shipping you off to some faraway island, far away from the North, your family? Do you sincerely believe this an act of goodwill?"

"They wanted to bring me to safety," Sansa retorts defiantly.

"That is what they _told_ you," Petyr argues.

"Just as you tell me the opposite," she huffs. "They took a lot of risk to make that happen."

"To have their own personal gain from it," Petyr insists.

"Which would have been?" Sansa looks at him rather annoyed.

"They could have sold you off, married you off to someone else. They could have killed you, and _worse_. There are a million options, one crueller than the other," Petyr tells her, narrowing his eyes at the young Stark daughter, who only cocks an eyebrow at him, "So you think you spared me one of those cruel destinies by abducting me?"

"I saved you _from_ an abduction," Baelish corrects her.

"Again, I didn't ask for it," Sansa insists. No, she told him that she changed her mind. She told him that she didn't need his help anymore.

"But you _needed_ it, _still_ need it. You should realise that you are safer with people of your clan, and that is what your aunt Lysa is. She is your family," Baelish argues. "Those two, or three, if you count the Kingslayer, too, are _not_ your family. Blood is thicker than water, that's the way it's always been."

"Lady Brienne is an upstanding, honest woman. And that you make her the culprit for this here is nothing that has to do with blood-ties, a lack of trust, or whatever else. It's simply… wrong," Sansa argues.

She never did Sansa any harm. Lady Brienne treated her with kindness and respect – and she did anything within her powers to help her. And now Lady Brienne is getting blamed for this here, and that with a child on the way. Sansa still prays for the child and Lady Brienne to be alright, just like she includes the squire and Lord Tyrion in her prayers, and Ser Jaime, though she reckons that he should be safe, at least, though she can't say the same about the other three.

"How well do you know this woman? For how long have you known her?" Baelish questions her.

"Not for long, but she served Mother," Sansa insists.

"Oh _yes_ , to help the Lannisters," Petyr snorts.

"To get Ser Jaime to King's Landing in exchange for Arya and me," Sansa corrects him.

"That is what _she_ said," Petyr snorts.

"And _you_ say the other. In the end, it's all just words," the young woman argues.

"I've met her before, in Renly Baratheon's camp, so I know her at least a little bit. She's tagged behind your dear Mother like a dog waiting for a bone. I wouldn't find it unlikely that she killed her King. After all, that is the accusation no one could rule out yet And then she sought her next-best opportunity by swearing allegiance to Cat," Baelish tells her.

"She cared about Renly a lot," Sansa argues. She can still remember the quiver in the strong woman's voice whenever she said his name, brought him to her mind.

"So well that he got stabbed while she was with him in the tent, leaving her without a single scratch," Petyr argues. "And if you tell me now that you believe in this fantastic tale of a shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon killing her dear Renly, you only humour yourself, Lady Sansa. Shadows don't kill, people do."

"I still don't think that Lady Brienne murdered Renly. Just like I don't believe that she meant me any harm. With all the obvious risks she took. She has important things to lose, important things to protect. You don't throw that overboard just like that," Sansa shakes her head.

Lady Brienne was pregnant. She wouldn't mean her own child harm, would she?

"In the end, she collaborated with the family who meant your family so much harm, Lady Sansa, never forget that," Petyr insists.

"She helped Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion, who are not at all like the rest of the clan," Sansa argues.

"You mean the man who pushed your poor little brother out that window? I bet the Kingslayer is one fine character," Baelish huffs. "Or even better, the dwarf who only drinks his head sore and whores around the world. I'd take any bet that he was just a lech, forcing himself upon you whenever the occasion allowed."

"Lord Tyrion _never_ did. He never touched me in that way," Sansa insists vehemently. "He treated me kindly and with all due respect and decency."

"That may have been once, but how long do you think would he have stuck to that?" Baelish argues. "He was supposed to make you bear his heir, upon the Lord Hand's insistence. To strengthen the Lannister-ties with the North. And do you really think he would have broken with his Father, his family, over… _you_? Be it that he may not have wanted to touch you, but at some point he would have taken you to fulfil his family obligations."

Sansa chews on her lower lip, "Which is why we wanted to leave for Tarth. Then Lord Tyrion would have been out of his Father's clutches. That was the whole point. And Lady Brienne was willing to take the risk of taking us along and offer us refuge in her home."

"Think about it. She's served Renly Baratheon… and he's dead. She served your Mother… and sadly, Cat is dead, too. And now she vowed your protection… and you can make yourself believe all you want that she would have kept you safe, but chances were not good that she would have or would have managed. This either means this woman is simply cursed, incapable, or indeed… much more like the Lord Commander," Baelish replies. "So you'd do better to let all that go and focus on what's ahead of you. Be it that the woman was in good spirit, but she means you no good. None of them did or will do you any good. So just forget about the rest and think about the green lands of the Vale, your new home, your family."

Sansa shakes her head, curling her lips.

"You will be in a better mood once we reach the Eyrie," the older man says, leaning back in his seat.

The young Stark daughter glances out the small window again, thinking away to sapphire blue waters of her imagination and Lady Brienne's description, wishing to have a needle and a thread to put her hands to better use, or rather, to use at all.

So for now, she only has silence.

* * *

Brienne could still send silent prayers to the Seven for the circumstance that they made it out of King's Landing's periphery without greater interferences. While still nowhere close to the Vale yet, she found herself breathing a little easier once they dared to cross the first town – and were not chased out with the pitchforks straight away, or delivered right back to the Red Keep to the Queen Regent's feet.

Not to mention that the prospect of stopping by in towns, if only for a night, proves to be an equally great reassurance. While Brienne is still too stubborn to admit it out loud, she knows that her feet don't carry her far these days. She feels like a duck most of the time, an ugly, giant duckling. Yet, what adds to her reassurance is that this means they might stay in a town once the cub is born, so that there are healers available to help with it.

Birth is a bloody enough business after all.

Thus, the two decided to stop off at a tavern with rooms to spend the night after they bought a few necessities for the way still ahead of them.

"So? What can I do for you?" the owner asks, leaning over the wooden counter. "A room for the couple, I assume?"

Jaime looks over to Brienne quizzically.

In the last town, they went to the local market to get food and some medicine. One of the merchants was seemingly in dire need of some chat, and Jaime just went ahead and dove into the role. So he lied and claimed that Brienne was his wife with the fourth child on the way, talked about their house in Duskendale, inventing more and more stories and anecdotes along the way.

Jaime got the jab of his life once they were out of the man's sight. That surely taught him not to make that lie unless necessary.

"That sounds good, Ser. How much for a night?" Brienne says.

"One dragon," the owner replies. Jaime already means to grab the pouch with his right – habits hardly die out, but Brienne is faster to grab it from him, takes out the dragon and puts it down on the counter, "Here you go, thank you."

"I thank you, m'lady," the owner says. "The room is the one at the end of the hallway on the first floor."

"Thank you," Brienne and Jaime say in unison before trotting up the stairs to the room, which is filled with sparse, old furniture, but in better shape than some of the inns either one has seen so far.

"I would have paid for a separate room, you know," Jaime says as they put down their bags. "One of the good things is that I could take a lot of money along before I left for King's Landing. So the family is good for _something_ after all, if only the finances."

"It's not necessary. I sleep next to you outside, too," Brienne replies bluntly, busying herself with her bag and getting out of her overcoat. "And it's as you said before: We have to be careful."

"I don't know if I should take offence in it that he thought us a couple. I'm far better looking," Jaime teases as he strips out of his overcoat and heavier clothes as well.

"He saw a man and a pregnant woman approaching together. What was he to expect?" Brienne shrugs, slowly sinking down on the bed.

This really used to be a lot easier when her womb was still flat.

"The last time I said something of the like, you almost broke my ribs," Jaime argues, sitting down on the edge of the bed, still digging through his pouch.

"Because you could have just walked away, but no, you started to tell this merchant a story, and an awful one while at it," Brienne argues. "Thatis what earned you the small jab."

" _Small jab_ my arse," Jaime snorts.

"You are just being too fragile," she replies with a roll of her shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Ah, of course," Jaime huffs as he swings his legs on the bed. Brienne already means to say something in return, when he holds something right in front of her face. Brienne knits her eyebrows until she recognises the object in his hand as an apple.

"We both know you want it," he says with a grin. Brienne waits a moment longer before snatching it. Jaime chuckles to himself amused as Brienne starts to eat the fruit. At some point he is glad that she is not outrageous in her cravings. Brienne simply displayed a particular hunger for apples, which gladly grow around them half the time, so she can just fetch them as she wants – and Jaime is smart enough to take a few along in case they don't come by an apple tree the next day.

He remembers that Cersei was all into sweet cakes, but only the finest pastries. Apples are far easier to handle.

Jaime studies Brienne as she glances at the opposite wall pensively, after finishing the last bite from the apple, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replies monotonously.

"Right," he snorts. "Wench, how many times do I have to tell you until you believe me: You are an awful liar?"

"It's nothing worth mentioning or discussing, better like that?" she argues.

"You might just as well say it," Jaime argues. Brienne shakes her head as she grabs her pouch from beside the bed. The man grimaces as she takes out a piece of cloth, twisting it between her fingertips.

A lightly blue cloth with navy blue waves on the side and golden lions at the edges.

"What is that?" Jaime tilts his head.

"Lady Sansa gave this to me. It's a baby sling," Brienne replies solemnly. "She gave it to me shortly after we had taken off with the ship, the same evening to be exact. I'm glad I didn't lose it when I jumped overboard and swam to shore during the attack."

Brienne remembers how taken aback she was by the gesture. She had rarely received gifts in all earnest up to this point, but this baby sling was a present meant in all earnest, a way of saying 'thank you', a way of showing that Sansa cared.

And now she is gone.

"Do you miss her?" Jaime asks quietly.

"I can't really say that I _miss_ her, for I haven't known her for long, but… _yes_ ," Brienne admits at last. "I wanted to bring her to safety, I really did. And now she is likely with Littlefinger, and there's nothing we can do about until we get there… which will likely be later than I would want to."

"No one could foresee this," Jaime reminds her.

He knows that Brienne still blames herself for having been unable to protect Pod, Tyrion, and Sansa from the ambush. While Jaime reassured her time and time again that it wasn't her fault, because it plainly wasn't, he knows that she still thinks that way.

Especially Sansa's abduction cut deep within Brienne's very being because Sansa was her one way to stand up to the promise she's made to Lady Catelyn. And for someone so focused on oaths, it's pure torture to know that you failed that vow, and have few chances to fix it.

"No, no one did, but that doesn't make me less responsible," Brienne insists. "Just because I didn't foresee the consequences doesn't mean that I can't be held responsible for not keeping my oaths from being broken."

"Brienne," Jaime grimaces.

This hits oddly close to home, Jaime thinks to himself. While he reckons that she didn't make the implication purposely, it applies to him, too, right? Back during their fight he said that he didn't foresee it that Cersei would talk to her before he got a chance to – but in the end it is as Brienne says. It doesn't make him less responsible.

"She's still so young. Lady Sansa shouldn't have been through what she underwent already, and now she is sent away to the Vale, to people she probably doesn't even know, and likely believes that I am the one who did this to her," the blonde woman argues.

"I bet she knows that you had nothing to do with that," Jaime tries to console her.

"What if Littlefinger tells her just the opposite? She knows him for longer than I. And he has a way with words, for all I heard and saw myself," Brienne argues, feeling miserable at the thought.

"He will _likely_ tell her something else, the question is what she'll believe. She knows that you are with child, so she can already guess that you actually didn't want to risk the child's wellbeing only to get her out of King's Landing and do whatever else to her," Jaime tries to assure her.

"Lady Sansa was supposed to find a bit of peace at last, and now? Now she is likely manipulated by some man who wants nothing but to sit on a chair and rule, speaking with a forked tongue," Brienne exhales wearily, twisting the fabric of the baby sling in her hands.

"She's a strong girl. She inherited her Mother's stubbornness. She made it through all the torture in King's Landing. I think she'll make it through something like this, too," Jaime argues.

"Do you think it'd be different now, had I not taken her on the voyage to Tarth?" Brienne asks, her voice no more than a whisper. Jaime chews on his lower lip, contemplating, "I bet things would be different now, but I think that Baelish still would have tried to get her out of King's Landing. Maybe he would have blamed someone other than you, but I don't think that the voyage to Tarth was what triggered him to jump into action. This was surely planned in advance. For that, it was too orchestrated. So whether or not you would have travelled to Tarth, Baelish would have tried to fetch Sansa."

"How is it with you? Do you miss your brother?" Brienne asks after a while, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, I hope that the little dwarf is alive after all. He cheated the hangman quite a few times, or rather, he talked to the hangman until he was fed up with him, or so I reckon," Jaime shrugs. "But yes, I miss him – and I would rather know him some place safe, too."

It's not that Jaime and Tyrion were always spending their time together, but Jaime always cared about his younger sibling the same way he cared for his older brother in turn. They spent weeks and months and years apart, but now there is the chance that he won't ever see Tyrion again, and yes, that is something that pains Jaime more than he feared it would.

"I hope so, too," Brienne agrees solemnly. "And all that for the sake of power, about some seemingly magically powerful chair forged out of swords that are no longer sharp…"

Jaime can't help a small chuckle. Because Brienne is likely the only one in all of Westeros who'd complain about the swords out of which the Iron Throne was forged no longer being sharp. For her, it's likely just a waste of material.

If Brienne were to choose between a thousand swords made a chair and a single sharp sword, she'd always take the thing with the pointy end, that much is for sure.

"I've sat on it once, it only hurt the left cheek of my arse, because there is a tiny bump right there," Jaime snorts. "That's likely the most uncomfortable chair I ever sat upon. And I've sat in a muddy pen for over a year, so I should know."

"I never had any interest in rule. I always wanted to serve. When my Father set me up for the betrothals, I was enraged that he denied me my wish to serve a Lord instead of marrying one," Brienne grimaces.

"Well, a knight wants to chase a knight's life, not sit on a fancy chair," Jaime shrugs. "Now forged out of swords or carved out of wood."

"Back then I didn't even dare to consider myself a knight. I knew I'd never be one, for I was born a woman after all. It's just that I never felt confidence in fulfilling such a role," Brienne shrugs. "Be it that of rule or marriage… or both, in that context."

"I was raised with the paradigm that I am the golden son who'd take over the Lannister Empire once my Father passed. And I know that I used to pride myself with it. That I walked around Casterly Rock and said to myself that I would rule all this one day… but then I started to fancy a knight's life, a knight's honour, and suddenly the God I prayed to was not the Father but the Warrior. While I still valued my heritage and the empire my Father built, I somehow thought that I wouldn't be a ruler fit for rule. Like you, I found serving a lot better. While other factors contributed to certain decisions… at some point I was like you. I didn't see myself on a chair. I rather wanted to keep standing, riding horses, walking, running… The problem is that others take the chairs, and they make serving a lot harder."

Brienne nods her head in silent agreement.

"I still hope my Father produces more heirs after me. After his daughter is now an outlaw, he has to think about securing at least the family name. At some point I never understood why he ever bore any faith that I would do it," Brienne exhales.

"I thought he'd given up on it the moment he let you join Renly's army," Jaime frowns.

"I reckoned so, too, but till last I heard no word from him that he found himself a new woman to have offspring with. And the last letter I received short before we left for Tarth didn't mention a new woman either. So I think he still bore the hope that I would eventually come to my senses," Brienne shrugs.

"You didn't tell him about the child?" Jaime asks.

"I feared that someone would intercept the letters. So I said to myself that I would tell him once we reached Tarth, well, but he'll know now, too, if Lady Olenna stuck to her word after all," Brienne says, puckering her lips. "At some point I honestly expected that my Father would send me a letter with possible new betrotheds after I wrote to him once we reached King's Landing."

"Oh, I'm glad that he did not. You would have torn down the palace, I fear," Jaime snorts. "Marriages in the upper ranks of society are much too complicated in my view… at some point I find it epic irony that it was once discussed that I should marry Lysa Tully, whose home we are trying to reach after all."

"Really?" Brienne blinks at him, and Jaime nods, "Yes. It never went further than discussions, though. That was shortly after I was knighted, before I joined the Kingsguard."

"And that is the thing I could never bring myself to agree to. I know why they do it – to secure lands and alliances, but I always found it odd to bind two children, or youths at best, together only for the sake of political gain," Brienne makes a face. "That's a war without swords, and I always find a straightforward attack better than one hidden behind fancy cloaks and false promises."

Jaime nods with a sigh, "Indeed."

There is a longer pause until Jaime speaks up again, "… Sometimes I wonder, though."

"About what?" she asks.

"Did you ever consider it?" he questions.

"Marriage?" Brienne makes a face, to which he nods.

"Are we seriously going back to the political marriage to you that never came about?" she snorts.

"No, the time before I screwed up your life, before you and I met in that muddy pen," Jaime argues.

"I already told you and told you just now again that my Father arranged for marriages several times, and managed three betrothals," Brienne makes a face.

"But that was your Father, not you," Jaime replies.

"So?" she frowns.

"Did _you_ ever consider it, for _yourself_? Taking all the politics and swordless sword fights and names aside for a moment? Did Brienne of Tarth ever consider to wed someone of her fancy – before it all turned sour?" Jaime asks.

"What's it to you?" Brienne grimaces.

"I'm curious," he shrugs.

"Sometimes, curiosity is very dangerous," she warns him.

"And still, the only way for discoveries to be made, for secrets to be uncovered," Jaime argues.

"And it might earn you a bloody nose," she huffs.

"C'mon, darling," Jaime chuckles softly. Brienne contemplates for a longer moment, but then reckons that she might just as well say it, "It's as I said. Marriages are way too often linked to political gain. And that is what I don't like about them. For that I am too bad at politics, you know that."

"Fine, we've already had that. But did you ever consider to have someone as your partner before the Great Jamie Lannister screwed up your life? Did you ever think yourself married, taking all the politics aside?" Jaime questions. Brienne looks at him for a long moment before she goes on, "I deemed it impossible, to tell the truth."

"Impossible?" he makes a face.

"Whatever man I met, except for Renly, treated me with scorn, laughed behind my back, or right at my face. I told you. So why would I want to be with such a person? I said to myself that it was impossible for me to find someone because no one would want me. And so I said to myself that maybe I don't need anyone either. It worked like that for as long as it lasted," Brienne admits, not looking at him. "So I never let my thoughts roam that far, to be honest."

"Almost like the royal distance," Jaime says after a long moment.

"What do you mean?" Brienne tears her blue eyes back around to him, so Jaime goes on to explain, "Hm? It's the way royals are educated. Haven't you ever noticed? We are taught to talk in a certain way, we bow, we curtsy, or well, in our cases, we both just bow, we know how to formulate properly, speak in such a way to disguise whatever the real content behind silken tones is. We always keep a distance, close enough to take the hand extended, but far enough to have enough time to draw a sword."

"A matter of precaution," Brienne shrugs.

"Of course, but it makes life rather… lonely at times, if you can't let anyone close," Jaime mutters, not meeting her gaze this time.

"Well, what is worse? Never letting anyone close or letting someone too close and…," Brienne says, but then stops herself – she didn't mean to address that, actually, but Jaime seemingly did, or at least takes no offence in it as he completes, "Getting stabbed? I don't know. Some wounds can actually heal."

"But leave scars," Brienne whispers.

"True," Jaime exhales wearily, but then asks, "Will we talk about us any time soon?"

"You mean to say?" she grimaces.

"If I told you now that I realised my mistakes back during our fight before you left for Tarth, would you believe me?" he asks. "That what happened thereafter put things in perspective for me?"

"If you told me that just now, I would believe you that you may think so," Brienne replies.

"Which would mean?" Jaime grimaces, purposely keeping the conversation on a hypothetical level.

"If you said so now, I would believe that you think that it's changed now. What I don't know is if it's changed for real. And for as long as I bear the one source of your affection that you are certain of within my womb, there is no way to tell for either one of us," Brienne tells him. "It may all change once the child is there and out of me, separated from me as its vessel. So yes, if you said such a thing rihgt now, I would believe in you thinking that, but I can't say that I would believe in it being that way, too."

Jaime licks his lips pensively. Because he gets her point, and he has no idea how to prove her the opposite. Because she has the one argument he can't take from her, and that is about her bearing the child. For as long as she has it, Brienne will always think that all affection is directed towards the child, not her.

"I think we should go to sleep. We still have a long way ahead of us the next morn," Brienne says.

"It might be for the best," Jaime agrees with a sigh.

After a while, both are well settled on the mattress made of straw and cloth. Brienne falls asleep a lot faster these days, which is no wonder, given the circumstance of the miles they wander each day, with her pregnant and growing heavier with every day passing. Just like her sleep seems a lot deeper lately, too. Jaime knows that the wench has a very light sleep by nature. A twig may have moved just the wrong direction and she was instantly awake, but now she is far deeper into the realm of her dreams, or so it appears.

Jaime still lies awake, his left hand running over his sternum absently, playing the conversation through again and again, as though instruments played faster and faster inside his head to the point that they all become one loud, deafening tone. Jaime turns around slightly, facing towards Brienne, who snores softly, now lying on her side, since she can't lie on her back for long with the big womb she now has.

Jaime blinks at the nape of her neck, which is exposed in the dim moonlight. He extends his hand, ghosting over her neck.

The woman is right more often than she'd ever know.

He can still see the scars she got from the damned bear, thanks to Locke, that bloody bastard.

And because of his cowardice.

Because he didn't stand to her right away, but only once realization dawned on him that even though his sense of honour took considerable damage over the years of king-slaying and sister-laying, he still had an honour to defend. An honour not his but hers.

He almost came too late.

Then he inflicted even more wounds on her with all the things he did while in King's Landing, and until he came to her, let's say, _rescue_ , leaving her with all the dread and fear and remorse, feelings of blame she only found soothed by touching the baby sling Sansa gave to her. Feeling as though it is a thing of the impossible for her being the sole receiver of affection.

And even for her _rescue_ Jaime almost came too late again – and already too late to stop the infection of blame to spread throughout her.

Some scars don't heal, Brienne is right.

So perhaps she is right with keeping a safe distance not to get hurt might being the best option, at least being the best option for her.

Though Jaime hopes that there is an ointment after all.

But the way he reckons, he won't find one until the child is born.

That doesn't mean he can't go looking, though, right?

Not to undo the scars, but maybe to make them fade a bit.

Because he fears that the wound he caused her won't heal any time soon, if ever.


	30. Iron Womb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around, for kudoing and commenting! You are such a kind readership! 
> 
> As a small warning: I hope that the description of what you are to read is halfway authentic, though I make no claims for it. And I decided to have it play out like that because I think it will deliver a stronger bonding moment for Jaime and Brienne, too.
> 
> As always, I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Brienne sits by the small window of their room for the night, running her hands over her pregnant stomach absently as she watches the rain paint white stripes into the navy blue of the night's sky.

These days, they really make _no_ great progress towards the Vale whatsoever. While they still walk the direction every day – and Jaime assures her that she makes it further than any pregnant woman likely would on the peak of her pregnancy, Brienne knows that the child will be born before they reach the Eyrie, which means that they will be even further behind to get anywhere near Sansa to rescue her.

They have to keep close to towns these days because Brienne may go into labour any day now, and Jaime _really_ insists on that they have a healer within reach – and they have the advantage on their side that they are far enough from King's Landing not to be recognized at once, especially since they walk around like commoners these days.

At some point, Brienne feels more and more anxiety bubbling up in her throat. They won't get to Sansa any time soon, or so it appears, and that even though she vowed that girl's protection to Lady Catelyn.

But what is even more startling is what dawned on Brienne again and again these past weeks – and that is that she actually has to _give birth_ to the child. Brienne just keeps thinking back to what her Septa told her when she was still a young girl, how it's all _bloody business_ , painful, awful, terrible, kills women all the while, just like bedding was something of equal standing to Septa Roelle, though Brienne can now say for certain that the latter was not at all like it, much to her very shock and relief. A bit of pain the first time, but _nothing_ compared to the pains she suffered before, be it the arrows that grazed her, the warhammers that hit her, or the emotional stabs she received. And soon, the world had faded away in the moonlight and the sensation of cold, dewy moss to a warmth she has never known before. Brienne vaguely remembers how Jaime had chuckled once she let on that she expected this to be very painful and not at all pleasurable and was shocked when it was the opposite. And how she ended up laughing as well.

Though these days seem oddly far away now. The ease that laid within these moments…

And what follows after birthing gives the blonde woman chills down her spine likewise… Brienne still does not see herself as a good mother, or anything close to a mother other than the fact that she will be the child's mother by virtue of birthing it. She got used to the idea of this child being theirs and that she loves it. That is out of question.

Yet, Brienne never perceived herself as a mother. Like she deemed it impossible and not worth the thought that someone would want to bed and wed her, Brienne found it out of this world that she would ever have children, no matter how her father seemingly blindly believed in that to happen eventually. She wanted to be a knight, ever since she can remember. The Warrior seemed to be the god closer to her after all. Brienne prayed to the Crone for guidance. She prayed to the Warrior when in Renly's camps, but… the _Mother_? Brienne is still not too sure about praying to her, striving to be like her… for that they seem too unalike. Brienne always thought you had to pray to the God closest to you, or at least that would grant you most chances to be in favour of at least one of the Seven. And Brienne thinks herself alike the Warrior more than the Mother _by far_.

Brienne turns her head once she hears the door opening and Jaime stepping inside on the creaking wooden floors.

"The storm will pass until morn, I hope," he says. "If not, I will curse the Seven. It's not the season yet."

"Well, Winter is coming after all," Brienne replies. Jaime rolls his eyes at hearing the Stark's motto as he shrugs out of his overcoat, "In any case. I heard something interesting in the tavern."

"Oh?" she looks at him expectantly.

"The innkeeper said that an _entourage_ landed in the other town a few weeks back," Jaime tells her.

"How would _he_ know what happened in the other town?" Brienne makes a face. Jaime smirks. While he used to think of Brienne as a rather dull thing at the very beginning of their journey to King's Landing, she proves to be quite smart after all. She is good at observing, and is suspicious enough not to take any piece of information for granted.

And Jaime knows that this can make the difference between life and death at times.

Gladly, bloody idealism and sharpness are not mutually exclusive.

"His brother happens to be an innkeeper likewise, in the neighbour town in question," Jaime explains. "They met for some family meeting, I think a namesday, something like that. Turns out that the entourage had with them a girl _with auburn hair_ , in company of an older man with beard and a _mockingbird_ attached to his lapel. The brother remembered in detail because he had to throw out one of the guests who's already paid for the night in favour of the two, since the mockingbird was willing to double the price for them not to be disturbed – and the brother could hardly say 'no' to such an offer, obviously."

"So Lady Sansa passed this way," Brienne's eyes flame up at once. Jaime chuckles softly, "She did indeed. While we are a bit behind her, we now know that she was with Baelish. Given that, we are likely on the right track heading to the Vale to meet up with his betrothed, if not already wife, I am not sure about that, but Lysa Tully is surely the address they will turn to."

"I just hope Lady Sansa is alright," Brienne grimaces, running her hands over her stomach again.

"As I said, she'll be treated like a small lady deserves it. Baelish wouldn't physically hurt her, I believe. For that, she looks too much like his dear Catelyn. And Sansa is Lysa's kin, so I suppose that she is safe around her," Jaime shrugs, hiding the small smile as he watches Brienne.

The first few times she caught herself stroking her stomach after Jaime had looked at her for a too long moment, Brienne almost jumped at her own action, startled like a cat you stomped on the tail. At some point Brienne is still too sheepish to admit her soft, tender side to herself. After she learned to detest her body for so long, Jaime finds it no wonder that she has a hard time offering a soft touch for it. He can still recall her almost scrubbing her skin off with a brush in a bathtub. Though he reckons she means the tender touch for the child more than for herself.

Hence Jaime decided not to comment anymore, so that Brienne would, well, _forget it_. The life they live now is filled with enough troubles, so he finds it only right that she finds solace in at least this one tiny little thing to forget the rest. So now, he can see her stroking her womb unconsciously almost daily – and as foolish as it may sound, he loves that sight, if in all secret. It has something strangely calming, strangely soothing, as though the world was intact for those few fleeting moments where time seems to stop.

Jaime steps over to the window as well, leaning against the frame, "This weather is depressing. I am not fond of wandering through the mud. I had enough of that in that bloody pen, enough of mud for a lifetime, I daresay."

"This is wicked," Brienne mutters suddenly, ignoring his statement. Jaime turns to her, "What now?"

"I swear by the Seven, whenever you come close, the cub decides to move around like mad," Brienne pouts. Jaime laughs at this, "The cub's just so excited to finally meet me that it tries to get to me, obviously."

"The cub could do that without dancing around in there," Brienne grumbles, shifting in her seat at the apparent discomfort. That child moves way too much tonight, at least to her liking.

Jaime presses his palm against her stomach. Gladly, this somehow grew to be a touch between them that lost any sort of discomfort. And indeed, the child is quite on the move tonight, "A good dancer, I must say. Let's hope the cub knows that we mean by dance a dance of swords and not of feet."

"Hopefully," Brienne huffs, but then cranes her neck to the window again with a frown. "Oh, new visitors…"

Beneath the window they can see lanterns swinging in orange light.

"Well, they may only stay for drinks. The innkeeper said that the rooms are packed," Jaime grimaces, glancing at the lanterns as well, though he likes even less the sound of metal in mud, the pitter-patter of rain hitting metal breastplates and heavy mail.

"Knights?" Brienne makes a face, noting the familiar noises as well.

"Or hedge swords," Jaime grimaces. "Well, let's see what they are up to… you stay here, I will check it out."

Jaime is out the door within seconds. Brienne sits up in her chair, leaning forward, her hand grasping Oathkeeper, which she always keeps close by. Jaime flits down the hallway to the tavern, but stops by the corner and listens carefully to figure out what is hidden in the constant chatter and chanty singing.

"… Have you seen the Kingslayer?"

 _Oh, damn_.

"Kingslayer? No. Why, Ser?"

"We are looking for him and a woman, she's supposedly with child."

"There is more than one woman passing by that is with child, Ser. And I've never seen the Kingslayer, so I can't say if he was here or not."

"Then let us see about that."

"But Ser."

"Do you mean to disobey?"

"Of course not, Ser."

"You make sure that no one exits the tavern until we are through the rooms."

"So? Anyone who wants to sing to us? There might be a gold dragon for you?"

Jaime hurries back to their chamber, "We have to go, _now_. They are looking for us."

Brienne growls some curses to herself, grabbing part of their things she already gathered in advance while Jaime went down to the tavern. Jaime shoulders the rest.

"But how do we get past them?" she asks.

"We'll go through the window," Jaime shrugs, already descending to the windowsill. If training proved to be helpful not only in terms of getting back in touch with his sword skills, it also proves to be a revival of his swiftness in general.

As though he had been revived…

"C'mon now," Jaime urges her, holding his hand out to her. Brienne purses her lips as she takes his left hand into hers so he may help her out of the window to stand on the small projecting roof. Normally, she wouldn't need his hand, obviously, but her centre of gravity shifted significantly with her pregnant stomach, making balancing a bit harder these days. They walk across the roof with careful, silent steps to one of the edges. Jaime looks down. That jump seems doable. "Alright, you'll go first. I'll hold on to your hand to cushion the fall."

Brienne nods, knowing better than to argue. She sits down on the edge, holding on to Jaime's hand before lowering herself down. Normally, she would have just jumped, but with child, neither one wants to chance it. Once she is securely on the ground, Jaime slips down the roof after her. They make their way over to the stable, hoping to get their hands on their mare, but they almost run into a bunch of knights, hedge knights, they can't be sure, waving around with torches.

The two back off and want to escape out of town, but that is when they can hear shouts from the tavern.

"I've seen them heading this way!"

"There was a man who's been missing his right hand, with a pregnant woman, huge she was, Ser! They've had the room right next to mine."

"So much to that," Jaime grunts angrily.

"They must have gone through the window! Search the town, now!"

Jaime and Brienne look at each other once before picking up speed.

"Over there!"

"This must be a joke," Jaime grunts as they proceed into the woods. The two just keep running into the muddy darkness ahead of them, the torches flickering behind them in threatening hues of orange and yellow, the rain deafening most of the shouts.

"How did they even find us?" Brienne manages to breathe out raggedly.

"They probably went from town to town and asked for who's seen a one-handed man with a tall, blond pregnant woman. In the end, those are very specific features if taken together," Jaime grunts.

Eventually, they have to stop, their sides burning. Brienne leans against one of the trees while Jaime checks around the closer periphery. He blinks into the darkness, trying to figure out which way to go.

"If we head South, we might run into backup teams. And the people in town, if they didn't notice back then, will surely notice us now, so going back to one of the other towns we were at previously is no option either… If we run straight up North, we give away our direction… this is… frustrating," Jaime grits his teeth, white mist appearing before his mouth with every breath he pushes out of his aching lungs. "So we can either head further East in the hope to shake them off… or try our luck with the first two options. What do you think?"

Brienne just shrugs at him, too focused on breathing.

They won't make it very far like this…

"Alright, let's head north-east for now. The woods should give us shelter. In the rain, they'll lose our track hopefully soon enough," Jaime says, having made up his mind. Brienne gives a tight nod before they rush ahead again, the mud sprinkling up the boots and legs.

Eventually the torches stop following them and they are bathed in nothing but darkness and heavy rain.

"That was close," Jaime grunts, chewing on his lower lip, trying to control his breathing. He turns around to Brienne, who is heavily leaning against the tree. He can only see the outline of her body, though that outline is moving like a giant wave – up and down, up and down.

"Maybe we should have been more infrequent in our stays over in towns after all," he grimaces thoughtfully, pushing damp air into his burning lungs. "But we should have some good distance between us and them now. I can't see any torches. The good thing is that they can't ride their horses in the woods, or even if they do, it's little advantage for them as of now, with the heavily vegetated forest – and the muddy ground. I reckon it'd be best to hide in the woods at least until next morn, and skip a few towns if possible. If we…"

He is stopped when Brienne lets out a low growl. Jaime turns his gaze back to her to see her clutching her stomach, bending over.

"Brienne? Are you alright?" he asks, worry catching in his throat.

Did they rush too fast for her body to take? Gods no.

"I'm fine," she grunts.

"Yeah, you sound fine, too," Jaime huffs, but then tilts his head. "Wait… are you…?"

When Brienne bites down another growl, Jaime is pretty certain that he is right in his predictions.

"Well, we should find a cave or so, then, before your water breaks," Jaime grimaces, nervously looking around. They have to find some place to stay now for certain. And preferably not in the midst of mud and animal faeces.

"We are long since past that point," Brienne says through gritted teeth. Jaime stares at her. "What? Your water already broke? _When_?"

"When you debated with yourself which way?" she gives a weak shrug, blinking at him. Jaime still can't help but stare. They have been running and sneaking away from the men after them for quite some time – and still, she didn't give that apparent change away, at all?

"What?! Why didn't you say anything?!" Jaime gapes. "And how in the Seven Hells do you do that? Cersei was screaming like a madwoman by that time."

"I know better than to scream when we are chased by a bunch of men searching for us, and surely not for a nice chat. And now we can go on marvelling at how much pain I can take without screaming or we can try to find somewhere to hide – because it's almost time, I fear," Brienne says through gritted teeth.

"… Good point," Jaime agrees, shaking his head, beads of water falling out of his air, into his eyes.

While the circumstances couldn't be more unfortunate, they are at least fortunate enough to soon find a small cave by a small creek, which gushes with much more water than it usually does thanks to the heavy rain.

"Well, better than nothing," Jaime grimaces as he guides Brienne inside. He checked for wild animals before, but gladly, they are the only living creatures in there, except for the insects and small critters that will likely roam around.

Brienne settles down on one of the big stones, breathing hard through her broad nose, "We should better start a fire. I don't fancy doing it all in the dark."

"Already on it," Jaime says as he gathers a few dry twigs that were likely swept into the cave by the winds over the past years along with a few leaves to drop them next to Brienne on the ground. Jaime contemplates for a split second on starting a fire one-handed, which proves to be rather difficult after all, but that is when he hears stone scratching against stone twice, and the sparks fly to start a small flame. He turns to Brienne who leans back on the stone as another wave of pain washes through her, dropping the firestones she used for the task. Jaime grimaces before gathering whatever is available in terms of blankets and cushions for Brienne to lie down on.

This is really not at all like they had it planned.

At. All.

The Seven surely have a lot of fun at their expenses, giggling and laughing at their troubles.

Jaime whirls around, halfway kneeling next to Brienne, trying to assess the situation, "Alright, how bad is it?"

The punch in the stomach comes unexpected and knocks the air out of him for once.

"Multiply that by a hundred and you have a rough idea," she growls, her blue eyes exploding.

"Forgot that I ever asked," Jaime grunts breathlessly, gathering himself quickly.

Brienne stares at the stones above her with a tight grimace. This is not fair. Not enough that she has to birth a child, now she has to birth it without the help of someone who knows how it's done, who knows how to bring out the child healthy. Couldn't the cub wait at least another day? Or choose the day before? Why now at _this_ very instant?

By the Seven, can't you show that bit of mercy with an innocent child?

Brienne is pulled out of her thoughts as she feels Jaime pressing the flat of his palm against her forearm, "It's going to be alright."

She looks at him for a long moment, so Jaime goes on, "You read the books, and I was present when Cersei had the children. So we aren't perfectly unprepared."

Though Jaime is by no means convinced of his own words. To tell the truth, he was more focused on what was with Cersei than what was going on further down below – and books are hardly the same as actual practice.

But what other option do they have? Even if he now waded to some town in the hope to fetch a healer, he can't leave Brienne alone in this state.

They are on their own, no way around it now.

And that means… that bit he remembers of the children's birth and Brienne's book knowledge is all they have…

He pulls the corners of his face into a frown as he straightens back up a bit, "So, since it's just you and I yet again… we have to see to it that we get on with it ourselves. Which means…"

He nods at her breeches. Brienne narrows her eyes at him. If possible, her already reddened face grows even more crimson. Not that Jaime expected less. And not that Jaime doesn't understand her growing distress over the matter.

"No," she blurts out saying.

"Brienne, you know that this won't work. And it's not like I haven't seen it already, so calm down," Jaime huffs, to which she only growls at him, looking like a lioness indeed. Jaime blinks, actually feeling a bit intimidated by her intense gaze, so he holds up his good hand as a gesture of surrender, "Okay, okay, I'm taking it back. I'm taking it back. But we don't have a healer – and you can't do that all by yourself. I know you'd rather have anyone else but me here for the matter right now, but that's the situation now. There is just you and I, Brienne, face it. So you'll have to let me… take over that part."

Brienne bites her lower lip as another wave hits her, blinding her momentarily.

"Brienne, please. You have to trust me on this now and ignore all the rest."

She looks at him for a long moment, blinking, before she bites her lower lip as she pulls down the breeches. Gladly, she chose the quilted, rather long tunic to wear before the chaos broke out, which leaves her a little less exposed. Jaime tosses another blanket over her lower body.

"Just imagine that I'm someone whom you don't hate completely. Think of Renly if you want, whatever helps you," Jaime says as he moves into position. She takes him by the arm, the arm with the missing hand, screwing her eyes shut.

"Fine," she says meekly.

"Alright," he nods before, well, assessing the situation at last.

It truly seems to be epic irony that two Warriors are supposed to be Mother and Father when in fact neither one ever truly fulfilled that role in any significant way.

"Oh by the Gods, I take it back that I have seen all that before. _That_ is definitely new. I can already see the head. How in the Seven Hells did you make it that long, really?" Jaime can't help but remark.

"If you ever dare say something about me having an iron womb now, I will strangle you," she warns him in a low voice.

"I'm not," he assures her quickly. "Just stay calm and breathe."

"You don't say?" she huffs.

"I am just copying what I heard other people say before," he admits truthfully, offering a weary smile. "Well, at least it seems to be a quick birth?"

At last one spectre of hope, he thinks to himself. Cersei was in labour for hours, and especially with Joffrey. Jaime just hopes that this is a sign that this child really wants to be in this world, speaking more for vitality than shock shaking the cub out of her.

"Let us rejoice," she snorts.

"Alright, you tell me, do you need to push yet?" he asks. Brienne gives a tight nod as she feels another wave crushing through her body. She can feel her fist tighten around his arm to the point that she knows it'll leave bruises on him. Brienne already means to pull away, but his arm follows her movement, "Hold on if that helps. I got worse beating from you before. It's alright to me for as long as the stupid stump proves to be good for _something_."

What comes next is more of a blur for the two. Brienne only focuses on the sound of Jaime's voice to guide the pain she feels forward, forward, to the child, to the future, while Jaime focuses on not dropping the child once it comes, keeping up his uttered mantras, and silently praying to the Seven to show mercy with Brienne and the child.

"One more push, just one more push," he finds himself saying at last. Brienne growls, holding on to Jaime's arm even tighter this time.

"There, there."

And that is when Jaime holds that pink lump of flesh in his arm. Gladly, he manages to balance the newborn on the length of his forearm rather swiftly.

The training really seems to pay off at last, if only for granting him more fine motor skills with his weaker left hand... well, only hand, fine.

Jaime edges closer to bring the baby against his chest, rocking it slightly, "C'mon now, cry out already, c'mon."

Brienne stares with wide eyes, not daring to breathe for as long as the child didn't cry out. She will not breathe until it breathes, too. She can't even.

Please, breathe.

Please, be alive.

Mother, Warrior, Crone, whoever of the Seven, please!

But that is when there is a shriek, then a wail, and Brienne finds herself breathing at last.

"It's… a boy… a healthy boy," Jaime says, his smile growing with every second passing. He does quick work on clamping the cord before cutting it with a knife he cleaned in the meantime, and wrapping the child in a tight bundle. "Here."

Jaime slides over the ground on his knees, to put the child down in her arms, resting against her chest. Brienne stares at the baby with wide eyes, fear clutching at her.

Because she already told Lady Catelyn that she is not made to be a mother, but… But once she looks at the bundle in her arms, Lady Catelyn is gone from her mind. Everything is gone from her mind, except for this breathing, wailing pound of flesh with hair.

He is as ugly as her, at least he is now. He is like her. He is her. He is hers.

Brienne doesn't realize the tears in her eyes, and she is too caught up to even care.

There the cub is. After she feared for it for so long, after she dreaded for its safety, its health for so long. After she already thought she lost it, no, _him_. After all the cruel japes destiny played at all of their expenses. Here he is, crying, wriggling, moving, two arms and legs, two hands and two feet, ten fingers and ten toes.

Brienne blinks, but then focuses on Jaime, who sits next to her silently.

"You may hold him, if you want," she says, holding the child back out to him. Jaime flashes a smile as he takes the bundle into his arms, fastening the fingers of his good hand around the child's thighs to make sure it doesn't slip out of his grasp.

The child looks just like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen did. Wrinkled and pink with white all over, but… it's perfectly different all the same because he can hold him and no one tells him that he mustn't, that he can't, only that he may.

This is his, at last.

The child clasps his stump with his tiny hands, not aware that a hand should be in that place. Well, you can't miss a thing you don't know was ever don't know a thing is broken when you never saw the part that broke away before.

Jaime doesn't realize the wetness against his cheeks.

He only looks at this small creature holding no judgment.

The small creature whose mind already seems to work the same way his mother's does.

Brienne looks at Jaime holding the child, her mind a blank slate.

She is so exhausted that everything standing between her and Jaime just fades away, is blown away by the unrelenting downpour of rain outside. Is washed away in the face of life in his arms.

Just as does the fact that she didn't imagine anyone else holding her hand.

Not even Renly.

Though she can't help but wonder at the tears cascading down his mud-smeared face, bringing to the surface small vines of clean skin. At some point she thought he would come up with a snarky remark, a jest, a joke, but nothing, just the tears as he presses his mouth against the small creature's forehead, pressing the babe to him as though it was the world itself.

But all Brienne sees kneeling in front of her is a proud father, overtaken by emotions of awe and love as he holds on to that tiny being as it goes on wailing, roaring at the world.

"Our son," Jaime grins, looking at her.

"Our son," she repeats, her voice no more than a whisper.

Their son.

That is something no one can take from them now ever again.

He is theirs.

He is in the world.

He is now their world.


	31. The Lion Cub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has a bit of baby blues (AKA she is anxious about the child's wellbeing). 
> 
> Jaime has to step in. 
> 
> Other important decisions have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I hope the last chapter was alright description-wise. I was a bit anxious about the chapter, because I never wrote a "birth"-chapter, pretty much. 
> 
> I hope to keep in-tune with character as to how Jaime and Brienne react to the little one, though I obviously can't make any guarantees. I give my best, I do ;) 
> 
> Oh yeah, I brought up that aunt Brienne's previously mentioned. I know she doesn't exist, but I found it a pretty smooth way to lead to that connection moment between Jaime and Brienne. 
> 
> As for the names, that's internet-based research, and I found them most fitting ;)

"What do you think are you doing?" Jaime frowns, rocking the child back and forth on his left arm as he sees Brienne nervously fidgeting around... gathering some of her things.

"We must get going," she insists, not looking at him.

"Brienne, Sansa can surely bear another day without us," he rolls his eyes.

"It's not about Lady Sansa," Brienne argues vehemently.

"Then what?" he makes a face. Brienne nods at a child, "We have to get him to a healer, to make sure he's alright."

"He seems quite healthy to me," Jaime huffs. "Brienne, we can't go back to the town we came from. We'll have to keep from the road a while again. The next town that we can tackle again is a good day's march away, _at least_. You gave birth to the cub only just yesterday night. You are in no condition to be travelling that far."

"I can do that," she insists stubbornly.

"We are not going unless something is wrong with the little one or you," Jaime argues sternly, though he keeps his voice calm. "You need the rest, Brienne."

"But what if something _is_ with him?" Brienne bites her lower lip, running her left palm over her face.

"He's alright. He has no fever, he wails, he spits everywhere, his digestion seems to work likewise, he drinks… he's a healthy little cub," Jaime tells her. "There is no need to worry."

"But that may change," Brienne insists.

"Just like _your_ wellbeing may change drastically once you push yourself too much," Jaime says, now with a more severe voice that doesn't go unnoticed by Brienne.

He lost his mother exactly to such a thing, by the Seven!

"But…," she mutters, though Jaime is faster to cut her off, his voice still levelled, however, "Woman, get it into your thick skull that I won't risk your wellbeing just to get a confirmation for what I already know. The child is fine. You have to think about _yourself_ just like you have to think about the little one."

Brienne blinks repeatedly, looking like a scared roe.

"I already told you when you were still in King's Landing along with me: Sure as the Seven Hells do I not want to bring the cub up on my own _only_ because you decide to bite the dust by being stubborn. While back then, it was about seeking a healer, the same applies now that we can't seek one right away. I won't let you risk your life for such nonsense," he goes on.

"This is no nonsense!" Brienne argues. "There might be something we don't see or don't know. There are a dozen things that could be with him that don't meet the eye."

"You read the books. I'm sure you read about the complications as well, did you not?" Jaime argues.

"Yes, but...," Brienne mutters.

"So if he shows any sign, I'm sure you'll be the first one to catch it," Jaime argues.

"I'm no healer!" Brienne retorts.

"Brienne, I assure you, the cub's fine," Jaime sighs.

"You can't know that, for you are no healer either," Brienne retorts. "And in any case, we have to get moving. We can't stay here forever, in case you didn't realise. The men might still roam around closeby."

"I don't say that we will stay in that cave for long, but for as long as we are safe here, we will wait until you are rested. That is unless something is wrong with either one of you. Then I will drag you to the next best town and sneak you to some healer, and fight off whoever might try to get to us, rest assured," he tells her resolutely. "So can we now agree on not agreeing to your plan?"

Brienne looks at him for a long moment before letting go of the pouch she clutched on the whole while before.

"Ah, there we go," he winks at her, readjusting his grip on the child. "You should just take your time and gather as much strength as you can. If only to reassure _me_ , hm?"

"I… I just want to know him safe," Brienne admits at last, averting her gaze. Jaime tilts his head to the side. He reckoned that this was the main motivation for her behaviour. Brienne is hell-bent on protecting the cub.

Not to mention that her body is likely tossing her through even more of an emotional turmoil than she had it in the beginning of the pregnancy, when she just started crying only because she was a little upset. Jaime vaguely remembers how Cersei was during those first few days after she birthed the children, and how she was overly anxious, paranoid even. Jaime reckons it to be no different for Brienne, if not worse. Not to mention that she _has_ good reason to be upset, given the situation in which they find themselves in, which surely adds the last bit to push her to the edge of her mind, making her forget everything except for tending to the cub with what she knows.

"I know that, that's out of question. And I want to know him safe, too, but I also want to know _you_ safe. One day will likely do no harm. And the cub's got two people watching him like a pair of hawks. That should do," he tries to reassure her. Brienne lets out a long sigh, looking at him wearily.

Brienne just feels utterly useless at this point. She knows how to protect people with a sword, but taking care of a newborn is an entirely different task.

Not to mention that the fact that there is no healer available to help the child if needed truly makes her shiver. If only she was more of a woman after all. Brienne always reckoned that most women just had a natural way with children, but she lacks this. She is not made out of that kind of stuff. So all she can focus on is the protection she is used to offering. To get help, to get to some expert, to get to safety.

By the Gods, the child deserves a better functioning mother than her, Brienne thinks to herself. One who knows what to do and when. One who knows how to offer the care it needs. One who is…

"I think the little one wants something to eat," Jaime says, pulling her out of the dark realm of her thoughts and fears. He walks over to Brienne, gesturing at her to take the child.

It doesn't go unnoticed by him how hesitant she is about this. He realised already this morn that she always has a slight tremor in her chest when she is supposed to take the cub. Jaime hopes this passes soon enough. While the wench was actually quite calm before the storm, quite literally so, all that ease is gone ever since she woke up this morn. She is a bundle of nerves, open nerves, open like a wound.

Brienne licks her lips as she takes the bundle with uncertain hands, as though she was touching a fragile carafe of glass and opens the lapel of her tunic to let the cub suckle.

At least that seems to work about alright, she thinks to herself almost bitterly.

Jaime busies himself stacking the firewood higher to make sure the flame is strong enough to offer the needed warmth. While the rain is no longer as bad as it was last night, it's still moist and cold outside the cave. Though the ever present fog surely helps to disguise them, which proves to be a small upside in this cruel yet wonderful mess. Which is yet another reason why he would rather wait before continuing the quest to the Vale.

Brienne tries her best to keep her breathing calm as the baby drinks, hoping that their son won't just end up crying. However, much to her dismay, once the child is done, it almost instantly starts to wail again. She furrows her eyebrows, "Maybe something is wrong with him after all."

"Brienne, children cry half of the time, if not more. And the fact that he is half a lion will make him roar a lot more than most children will anyways," Jaime assures her, noting the edge of worry in her voice. He steps over to her, "Do you want me to take him again? Then maybe you can try to get some sleep? I know you didn't get much of that last night."

He just hopes that a bit of rest will somehow let the nervousness bleed out of her. Jaime really doesn't like it to see her like that.

"I… alright," she mumbles. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he smirks as he starts rocking the child.

And Brienne tries hard not to feel envious at the ease with which he seems to handle the child, or rather, the entire situation. The child even cries less once he is in Jaime's arms.

Well, small wonder, or so she reckons. He knows how to handle children...

Brienne drifts off to light sleep faster than she pictured, only conscious of her tiredness once her eyelids stay closed for longer than a few seconds.

Jaime flashes a small smile as he settles down a bit further away from her so Brienne is not immediately startled once the child decides to make a sound. He draws his knees up so the child can securely rest against his thighs and stomach, finding himself still smiling like a bloody idiot.

Just that he doesn't really care for it that he is.

He is used to being a fool, but being a fool out of happiness is _truly_ nice for a change.

Jaime pats the outside of his leather jacket with his left as he shifts position slightly, furrowing his eyebrows, but then recognises that he has something in his pocket, which explains the small bump he felt right there. He fishes the object out and brings it in front of his eyes.

He almost forgot.

The small lion Sansa had given him on the day of their departure to Tarth, or well, the intended goal of Tarth. While still in King's Landing, he found himself clutching on to that thing in all secret more often than he'd like to admit, but ever since he got Brienne out of the settlement, it was somehow forgotten in his pocket.

Perhaps because he could reassure himself by the fact that he had the child just within reach, which he lacked back then. At least that is the most logical explanation that comes to Jaime's mind at this point.

He runs his thumb over the stuffed lion in profile, the blue eyes Sansa carefully stitched into the red fabric on either side, the golden embroidery that serves as the outline and mane, and the embroidered collar of silver with a small version of Tarth's coat of arms. That girl really knows how to use the needle. That is out of question. Jaime feels the child moving his small arms up towards it. While not yet able to really grasp it, Jaime is happy to wriggle the lion in front of the boy's face who extends his arms to it, which makes him produce more spit bubbles and make noises that pass for small chuckles at least in the father's view.

Jaime keeps wriggling the thing around in front of the boy's face while his eyes check on Brienne every once in a while as she sleeps, curled in on herself.

While surely anything close to perfect, Jaime still can't help but smile.

* * *

Upon Brienne's very insistence, the two, now _three_ , set out on their way towards the Vale, and hopefully some friendly town soon, to check on the child at last, and of course on the mother likewise, as Jaime has to remind her time and time again.

At some point it's a small miracle that the band of hedge swords, if they were, there is no sure telling, didn't find the cave and seemingly lost their trail in mud and mist, but maybe the Gods just mean to repay them a little this time.

The three made camp by a small ledge that offers shelter from winds and possible threats from at least this side.

"… Did you decide on a name yet?" Jaime asks, making Brienne whirl her head around to him. She had busied herself with some smaller tasks around the camp while Jaime had tended to the cub, just to blurt out asking this.

"What?" she looks at him, her blue eyes opening unnaturally wide.

"A name, for the cub? I don't think he'd enjoy it much if we called him 'Cub' for real," Jaime shrugs. "I mean, of course we might, but I don't know if I would fancy it. 'Cub' is a pet name after all. It'd lose its impact if it was his actual name, no? And Cub Lannister or Cub of Tarth sounds odd for many reasons, especially the second sounds like you are asking for something to drink…"

"… What would you want to call him, then?" Brienne asks cautiously.

"I asked _you_ , wench," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"You can name him, that's… _you_ asked first," she mutters, now sounding more like a child than a mother. Jaime offers a sympathetic grimace, " _I_ asked _you_ what you'd want to call him. You know, we never discussed the matter, so we might do that now."

"The father usually names the child," Brienne argues. Jaime leans his head back with a grunt, "For someone who usually never struggles to state her opinion, you are incredibly shy about the matter, woman. C'mon now, you must have been thinking about names at _some_ point, or have you not?"

Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders.

"Just say it already," Jaime huffs, though he sports an encouraging smile nevertheless. "You know, there is no right or wrong in this."

It didn't go unnoticed by him that she has been especially thin-skinned these past days. Jaime still accounts it to the side effects of birthing the child, especially under the circumstances by which the cub was brought into this world, but that doesn't mean he won't try to break her out of that shell.

To tell the truth, Jaime can hardly stand to see Brienne like this. He is used to her being awkward about certain things. He is used to her uncertainty, but it looks like she is in terror most of the time, trying to conceal it behind a blank expression, shivering when in fact she has no cold and the weather is surprisingly sunny these past few days. This is not at all like her, and Jaime wants her like… _her_ again.

"I was thinking about… I was… thinking that perhaps, uhm… I thought about Arlyn or Gurion," Brienne eventually brings out, though with much effort.

"So… _the pledge_ , if I am not mistaken, or _the lion cub_ ," Jaime grins broadly. "I suppose I should have guessed about Arlyn, though Gurion is a bit of a surprise after all."

Brienne rolls her shoulders, biting her lower lip, "I… I thought it might be nice because it…"

She stops herself, averting her gaze.

"Because it _what_?" Jaime asks.

"It has part of Tyrion's name in it, if only the ending," Brienne replies, not looking at him. "It's just, I… he did so much for us and he is your brother and…"

Jaime is taken aback by her words, to be perfectly honest. While he finds himself praying for his brother's life, and Pod's, more often than he'd like to admit, Tyrion didn't cross his mind very often otherwise. But now he is right back in his mind, the small, witty, annoying man who beat sense into Jaime's head more often than his age would permit him, if put next to his older brother. So he is honestly surprised that Brienne spent so much thought on his brother likewise, but then again… he knows she still blames herself for his, let's say, _disappearance_ for now.

And Jaime is honestly glad that she keeps talking about Tyrion in the present tense, saying that he _is_ his brother, not that he _was_.

That makes hoping and praying for all of this being just a _disappearance_ a lot easier.

"That is not to say that I am sure he is no longer under the living, as a way to honour him in death, it's just…," Brienne keeps fidgeting for the words.

She can hardly imagine the pain that must still surge Jaime's body at the possible loss of his brother. Brienne knows he loves him – and that she failed to protect him, no matter what Jaime may say to differ. She knows she failed Tyrion like she failed Sansa and Podrick, the poor lad.

She's only talked with him a bit while on the voyage – and Brienne remembers how she was almost taken aback as he expressed both his loyalty to his lord and his growing wish to chase a knight's life after all. And the foolish thing Brienne was, she even dared to promise him to see to it that she'd find him a proper master at arms to make him a knight, and eventually knight him, too, so the Gods will. And the ever more foolish thing she was, after the lad's asked if she minded training with him once she had the child, she smiled and said that they might see about that, too.

And now it may be that the only thing she's ever given the lad was a grave in the deep blue sea, having died not knowing how to ride a horse properly, or how to wield a sword.

Brienne doesn't even want to think about how very much she failed Sansa and Tyrion, because their protection was her task, her responsibility, now with child or without. She failed, easy as that.

She didn't prevent that from happening.

She didn't prevent that pain for Jaime.

"I didn't understand it like that," Jaime says, pulling Brienne away from the boat back to the camp.

"So, what would you suggest instead?" Brienne asks, her shoulders tensed.

"Nothing," Jaime shrugs. "I think you chose the two fittest candidates."

"Then… which one?" she questions.

"I would tend to Gurion, if only to see the little dwarf smiling like a bloody idiot if we are to see him again," Jaime grins, with a bit of sadness, but with a huge bit of feeling moved by the gesture. "Not to mention that Gurion Lannister or Gurion of Tarth has a nice sound to it. And of course because this means that I'd get to call him cub even if I don't call him 'cub'. And _you_?"

"I like Gurion, too," she shrugs. Jaime lifts the baby above his head slightly, grinning at the infant, "Then it is decided, little one. From this day forth, your name shall be Gurion. Though I cannot promise that I won't continue calling you 'cub' every now and then. Ah, see, he likes it! He makes spit bubbles."

"He makes spit bubbles all the time," Brienne rolls her eyes, slightly amused.

"Because he is a happy child, naturally," Jaime chuckles as he lowers the babe back down to rock him back and forth on his arm, making the boy, no, _Gurion_ , gurgle almost gleefully.

Well, at least it sounds gleeful to Brienne.

She watches Jaime as he rocks the child with such ease and dare she say expertise? And she tries hard not to envy him for it. She really does. Because it's nothing to develop jealousy over, just that she does, for some godforsaken reason. Brienne wished she had the same kind of carefreeness in her care for him.

The Seven Hells, she wished she had her wits back. She feels like an open nerve lately, and she just wants this to stop and make space for common sense again.

"How comes you know how to hold children so well?" she blurts out asking before her mind can hold her back, so she quickly pedals back. "I… never mind."

A foolish thing to ask.

He is a father already after all, three times. That they didn't know doesn't make a difference, obviously, because…

"I never held any of the three, if that is what lead to your 'never mind'," Jaime replies, his voice holding no offense, much to Brienne's relief. "I just remember it from holding Tyrion when he was still a small babe, a _very_ small babe."

"You never held them?" Brienne blinks at him.

She thought that he and Cersei… if only in private…

"Cersei said that it would have been too obvious. Joff looked just like me, already as a baby. People would have mumbled already back then," Jaime admits, his lips curling uncontrollably for a moment. "But I held Tyrion whenever Cersei was not around. She didn't like to see me with him. You know why. So I am _naturally_ good at this… I mean, I only dropped Tyrion like… five times."

" _What_?" Brienne shrieks.

"I was _joking_. Calm down," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"Don't joke about such things," she growls. He mustn't give her a scare like this. Brienne is scared enough even without his japes.

"So you never held babies?" Jaime asks, halfway amused.

"I tried to stay the Seven Hells away from them," Brienne snorts. "My siblings passed before me, so I never held them, obviously. They died in the cradle, except for Galladon, but he was eight by the time he's drowned, so hardly a baby, and I was obviously younger than him."

"And the relatives?" Jaime asks.

"As I said, I was very persistent in trying to keep away from the children. I always felt like scaring them or that I would drop them. I was a clumsy big thing after all," Brienne huffs. "Though I remember one time… the aunt I've mentioned to you, who's turned up pregnant after I didn't see it coming?"

"Yes, I recall," Jaime nods.

"Her firstborn and secondborn were all alright and healthy, but the third, a girl, Cassandra they named her, died while still in the cradle, like my sisters. Father went to see the family, and took me along, as a way to say goodbye and offer solace for my aunt and uncle. Father was always very fond of the family, as was I. It was tragic, really. I remember that I kept away from the crib as far as that was possible, no matter how much even my aunt encouraged me to go see the little one. I didn't want to."

"Why?" Jaime asks quietly.

While this is certainly no pleasant tale, Jaime understood by now that it's always a display of trust on Brienne's behalf if she lets on to her feelings – and one of her not-so-bright life stories, which are achingly many to Jaime's understanding. So while he is certainly not glad for the content of the story, he finds himself relieved to realise that Brienne seemingly learns to trust him more and more.

"She was so fragile… and I was clumsy by nature. I was always too tall for my age, too much arms and legs, ever since I can recall," Brienne shrugs, offering a crooked smile. "It's not that I kept away from her, I was around her, in her room, but I just… didn't touch her. At least I remember playing and reading in her crib by night, if in all secret."

She tilts her head as she recalls playing and reading in that crib to keep close to Cassandra, but always far enough away not to cause her harm or accidentally knock against the crib or so.

"But then my Father, as life drew to a close for the girl, _dragged_ me to the room. I begged him not to make me. As young as I was, I was afraid that the girl would die in my arms and that it'd be my fault, then," Brienne admits feebly, calling her own cries to her mind.

Her father was always gentle with her and usually let her have her way, except for the betrothals and the dresses he made Brienne wear on more than one occasion, but on that very day, he had been so grim and determined that it left her staring at him.

"I remember how serious he was about the matter, ordering me again and again to take Cassandra into my arms. He insisted, telling me that I would regret it if she died without me having held her at least once, because she was family, too. I suppose he was right in the end. I would have regretted it… I…," she suddenly stops, her eyes widening. "I am sorry, I…"

Brienne doesn't want to be awful to him, reminding him of something she knows for a fact he was denied with the other children.

"No, no, he's been right. I guess I should have held them, too, whatever the official status may be," Jaime shrugs, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

Even when Joffrey died, he only held on to him as Cersei pushed him away at the wedding. Not that he blames her for _that_ , really. Jaime blames her for other things, but not _this_. It's just… well, Brienne is seemingly right with what she is saying. He should have held them, at least once, if only in all secret. Jaime was sneaky. There surely would have been a chance to do it when Robert was off for a hunting trip or the like.

But in the end, Jaime didn't do it. Why? He can't really tell. Maybe because Cersei's threat was too deeply ingrained into his mind, or because he didn't care as much as he really should have, his sister's words notwithstanding. But back then, Jaime was more focused on his twin and himself, their love, that he never realised or recognised that this is something he could have done and should have done, that this may have been something that he even needed.

Not that he believes that this would have changed the world's course, or would have prevented Joffrey from becoming the monster that he was, or would have prevented him from becoming the monster he himself was, pushing boys out of windows, but maybe Jaime would have been a slightly better man for it, had he at least made the mental effort to connect to the children, if only in secret.

So yes, he should have held them, all of three of them, at least once, if not more often.

"I'm sorry for you that you never had the chance to, I really am," Brienne tells him truthfully. Because she knows that the loss of Joffrey, however much of a monster he may have been in his short life, was his son, and that is a loss you feel even if you never had a close personal connection to the child.

There is just so much death and loss in this world lately…

So Brienne knows that it was actually a bit of fortune that her father forced her to hold her cousin before she went.

"Thank you, but… well, I get to hold this little one here now, right?" Jaime offers a small smile.

"Right," Brienne nods in a hurry.

Jaime kisses the babe on the scalp, rocking it back and forth as he walks. For some reason, he really finds it natural to do it. It feels as though he never did something else. And when he holds the cub, it doesn't even seem to matter that he is missing a hand. His arm is enough to support his head and hold him firmly. The child fits right in the angle of forearm and lower arm, as though nature made arms only to hold children, now with hand or without.

Gurion fits perfectly into the juncture of his upper and lower arm.

He fits perfectly to him.

"Do you want to hold him for a while?" Jaime asks at last, fully expecting the reply he gets promptly, "No, no, he looks comfortable with you."

Brienne shakes her head hurriedly, averting her gaze.

"Will we talk about it now that you are seemingly afraid of holding the cub?" Jaime questions eventually. "I mean _Gurion_?"

"I just told you, I didn't do it often," Brienne mutters, feeling a blush creep up her lips.

"You hold him when you feed him," Jaime argues.

"… I don't think he likes me," Brienne says, puckering her thick lips, appearing much younger than she is.

"Now don't be stupid, wench. He is a baby. Babies cry. That has nothing to do with you," Jaime furrows his eyebrows.

"He doesn't cry in your arms as often," Brienne insists.

"That is because I don't freak out like you do. He senses your nervousness, that's why," Jaime replies with a small smirk.

So that is why she is so upset lately?

Ah, this woman… he should have guessed.

"I always knew that I wouldn't ever be good with children," Brienne grunts, looking miserable.

She really should have invested more time into figuring out how to act like a woman, not lady, but _woman_. Then maybe she would know how to tend to the child better than she feels capable of at this time.

"Now don't be ridiculous," Jaime argues vehemently, now very sincere. "You are his mother."

"Yeah, I know, but one who fails miserably at the task," Brienne retorts, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can catch them in her broad mouth.

"Brienne," Jaime insists. "That is not at all true."

"I don't know what I am doing half of the time, at best. All I can do is worry myself sick about him," Brienne argues. "And he cries whenever I hold him, so I surely do something wrong."

"You just have to relax, that's all. Like you do when you feed him. Then you are at ease and the cub is, too," Jaime shrugs. "Or else he would surely refuse the drink once in a while."

"I didn't notice… that," Brienne says, slightly blushing. To her, it always feels like the boy is instantly uncomfortable when in her arms, and is glad to be back with Jaime, who is more able in her opinion. Did it really go unnoticed by her that Gurion eases when she feeds him? That she does something different then that works to the effect that he calms down?

She really needs her wits back.

"That's just what I thought," Jaime shrugs. "So now, to make it clear: He is calm if you are calm and he is upset when you are upset. While it's no certain recipe that he shall never cry again for as long as you keep calm, it does help the cause if you are calm around him. That is what I do, and it has good results, you say so yourself."

Brienne curls her lips into a deep frown, but almost flinches once Jaime comes closer to her, "So now, take him."

"I…," Brienne stutters, but Jaime replies with a grin, "For as long as you don't bite him, he won't bite you either."

"I know, he has no teeth," Brienne says, trying hard not to feel more like a child than she does anyways.

"Now c'mon, take a few deep breaths, calm down," Jaime says, now more seriously. Brienne stares at him for a long moment.

"I feel foolish," she sighs.

This is ridiculous. She is.

"You are nervous because you are not used to this. That is _natural_ , Brienne. And there's truly no shame in it, trust me in this," he tells her truthfully. "So just calm down, think of something that calms you, and then you'll see that he'll be more eased around you, too."

He hands Gurion over to her without taking another denial from her, leaving Brienne staring at the child with her big blue eyes. However, Brienne tries to do what he advised her to, so Brienne calms her breath, tries to call to mind moments of tranquillity, the few fleeting moments that put her mind to ease, when she didn't feel like needing her armour…

"See?" Jaime says happily once Gurion, the child shall be blessed for siding with him for once, makes a small gleeful gurgling sound. Brienne looks at the baby in her arms, trying her best to make fluid movements in rocking him. She still feels awkward holding Gurion, but if the child feels uncomfortable at this moment, he doesn't let on. He just keeps wriggling around and making spit bubbles.

"See?" Jaime says, offering a small smile.

"… I suppose what really irritates me that he's… so soft," Brienne mutters.

"Huh?" Jaime furrows his eyebrows at her. Brienne only shrugs at him, "I am used to rough things, I don't know. I am rough. My clothes are. My hands are rough and calloused. The little one's so soft that I think it's impossible."

Gurion seems even softer than Cassandra, at least to her, and that child's skin felt like glass, she remembers.

"I think you are the only person on the _planet_ who would be irritated by such a thing," Jaime shakes his head, honestly amused by this.

Brienne of Tarth is the only one who'd ever complain about a child's softness, or mark it as the source of her apparent discomfort.

"… I just always think that I am… too rough to hold him," Brienne then admits feebly. Jaime blinks at her, before adding in a stronger voice, "You are not, I assure you. And _I_ should know, right?"

Brienne puckers her lips, but chooses not to comment. Jaime curls his lips into a frown likewise, though that is the reaction he anticipated.

"I will get some firewood," Jaime says, straightening back up, clapping his left hand against his thigh. Brienne looks at him, "But what if he starts crying again?"

"You'll do just fine. And I am not gone far, so if the cub keeps calling for the lion, the lion will obviously return in the blink of an eye," Jaime winks at her, turning to leave.

Brienne sinks against her seat, cradling the child closer to her, trying to get used to the sensation, and to the fact that Gurion is not crying in her arms.

"Hello, Gurion."


	32. Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are still on their way to the Vale while sinking into the routine of being parents. 
> 
> Brienne reveals something - and also gets more confidence in her being a mother. 
> 
> A bit (lot) of JB bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I took the songs from the internet. I wanted to use some 'authentic' material in the sense of using something from the ASoIaF universe. I hope the lyrics are accurate. If not... blame the sources. And I wanted to elaborate on the songs because I always said to myself that I want to see Brienne displaying that talent, and I hope they'll show that in the books... anyway... 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy ;)

Jaime roams through the woods in search of usable firewood. They made camp for staying the night. Much to Brienne's reassurance, they passed by a town and could see a healer who assured them that Gurion was healthy as an ox, or a "lion" as Jaime muttered to himself with a grin, and that the outdoor-birth posed no threat to the little one's health. The healer even said that it might spur his immune system. Upon Jaime's insistence, the healer checked on Brienne as well, and it brought Jaime a sigh of relief dying on his lips once they came out of the private chamber and he got confirmation that Brienne was fine as well. After all, there was no midwife available for her either - and he knows the very best that birthing a child can mean the mother's demise.

That is how he lost _his_ mother.

And Jaime really feared that destiny would play a cruel jape at his expenses for all his wrongs by repeating that story all over for him, but gladly, the Gods proved to be kind to them after being awful to them before. So Jaime won't complain about the Gods for as long as they stop throwing pebbles at them.

Once they had left the healer's house, they left the town after grabbing more supplies before heading back on the road. They decided to stay away from towns a while longer. Now that Gurion is there and is testing his lion cub lungs every day and night, they might have their dear trouble hiding, if they are caught in town yet again. But the woods swallow most of the sounds, so that is likely the best place for them for now.

Though it dawned on them both that it will be difficult to break Sansa out of the Vale with a crying child under the arm, because they don't have anyone to seek out who could take Gurion at this point, at least no one whom they trust.

At this point, there is really just them.

Jaime grunts as he has to put down the pile of firewood again, after he lost, _yet again_ , a log. Really, the Gods did wise to equip men with two hands in the first place. That makes such task ever the easier, and less humiliating. While he is swift with holding the baby, Jaime still proves to be rather clumsy in other regards, like collecting fire wood, or making a fire.

Jaime mostly trains sword fighting on his own now, and that is what gives him hope, more or less, because he improved drastically since he started sparring with Brienne shortly after they fled from the settlement. Not to mention that the wench had the _fabulous_ idea to make him practice with a two-handed sword, which is really heavy to wield with just one arm - to train his left even more. The first few times he practiced with the much heavier sword, Jaime thought his arm would come off after the sparring session was over. Though, to her credit, Brienne does the same whenever sparring, or well, _did_. Right now, she doesn's spar with him, though Jaime reckons it won't be long until Brienne's fingers will itch for wielding a sword again, and it will be her left that will ache for the action the same way her left will.

He cranes his neck at a sound he can't put at first, but then identifies it as a voice.

Jaime picks up the logs and makes his way to the camp with fast strides, already debating with himself to put them down and draw his sword, only to find the wench propped up against one of the big logs, the child resting against her thighs as she… _sings_.

_Look how the light of the town,_   
_Tlights of the town are shining now,_   
_Tonight I'll be dancing around,_   
_I'm off on the road to Galway now._   
_Look how she's off on the town,_   
_She's off on a search for sailors though,_   
_There's fine fellas here to be found,_   
_She's never been one to stay at home._

_Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay,_   
_And you've work to do in the morning._   
_Give up your dream of going away,_   
_Forget your sailors in Galway…_

She looks around once she senses his presence, pursing her lips.

"Oh," is the only thing Brienne manages to bring out as crimson rises to her cheeks.

"Don't feel interrupted because of me," he tells her with a wink as he puts the logs down by the fireplace to dry further before they will be added to the flame later by night. Jaime has to try hard not to laugh at how her mouth flexes nervously, stealing glances at him and the cub, back and forth and back again.

" _The Sailors of Galway_ , right?" Jaime asks, keeping his voice cheery.

"Yes, it's one of the… more _jovial_ songs I know, well the melody is. Gurion doesn't understand the content anyway," Brienne replies, though it seems as though she has to try hard not to bite off her tongue while she forces the words out of her mouth, when bare moments they flew out of her mouth as though they had grown wings.

"It's a nice singing voice you have there," he goes on, busying himself with poking the fire with one of the twigs. "For a moment I thought I heard a bird singing."

"Yeah, yeah, and you thought it was a crow, good joke," she huffs.

" _You_ said that not I," Jaime argues, straightening up, wiping his hand with his stump. "It's not my problem when you can't accept a compliment. I really mean it, your singing voice is by far nicer than your talking voice."

"Ah, there we go," she snorts. Jaime chuckles. The only way Brienne takes a compliment for what it is is if he ridicules it in a way. But then again, that truly is no great surprise after what happened between them before. Jaime could say many compliments, but none of them would reach her, because he insulted her so deeply before.

"Well, I know that _I_ sound about just awful, you don't, that much I can tell," Jaime shrugs. "So it's good for the cub that there's one parent to sing him lullabies at last. And it seems to work for him. I haven't heard Gurion weep just once, and I kept within eavesdrop at all times."

Brienne looks at the babe again, wriggling her nose pensively.

"How comes I never heard you sing before?" Jaime goes on to ask.

"I don't do it often," she shrugs her broad shoulders.

"You don't say," he snorts. "But you said that you _know_ a lot of songs."

"That doesn't mean I sing them, too," Brienne replies, but then almost ducks her head as she adds, "You don't sing for yourself, you sing for people. And I didn't want to sing for just _anyone_."

Was she supposed to sing for her three betrotheds?

Was she supposed to sing for the men who mocked her at the ball when Renly saved her by dancing with her?

Was she supposed to sing for the men in Renly's camp who made a bet on who'd get her maidenhead first?

Not really.

She would have sung for her Lord Renly, even her Lady Catelyn, had she asked for a ballad, but no one ever did, and she didn't offer either. Until Brienne would have found the courage to suggest it, it was all too late, every time. Till last Brienne believed that she wouldn't ever sing for anyone, but she can sing to the cub, or so she wants to believe, all the songs she learned, for she knows a lot of them.

Gurion will definitely not judge her for it even if she sounded like a crow or a duck, or both combined. He may wail at the sound, but not _judge_ her for it, no. In fact, the little boy seemed rather fond of the sounds. And Brienne would never admit out loud just how glad she feels at the mere thought that there is finally something that she can do that puts the child at ease. It makes her feel a bit more like the mother she should be.

"As I said, you don't have to stop singing for the cub because I am here," Jaime tells her, settling down against the other log, taking his sword out to polish it.

"But, ugh...," Brienne mutters, embarrassed all over.

"Do you want him to start crying again, do you?" Jaime says, without a taunt, but with enough of a smile for her to realise that he might have a point.

Jaime looks at her for a longer moment, offering a crooked smile, but then busies himself with the sword, figuring that she feels too embarrassed for as long as she knows his eyes on her.

Brienne grimaces, secretly stealing glances at Jaime, but at last she goes on:

_Come now and follow me down,_   
_Down to the lights of Galway where,_   
_There's fine sailors walking the town,_   
_And waiting to meet the ladies there._   
_Watch now he'll soon be along,_   
_He's finer than any sailor so,_   
_Come on now pick up your spoons,_   
_He's waiting to hear you play them._

_Here today and she's gone tomorrow,_   
_And next she's going to Galway,_   
_Jiggin' around and off to town,_   
_And won't be back until morning._

_Off with a spring in my step,_   
_The sailors are searching Galway for,_   
_A young lady such as myself,_   
_For reels and jigs and maybe more._   
_Stay here and never you mind,_   
_The lights of the town are blinding you,_   
_The sailors they come and they go,_   
_But listen to what's reminding you,_   
_Handsome men surrounding you,_   
_Dancing a reel around you._

Jaime grins to himself as he keeps his eyes on the sword not to interrupt Brienne. She really has a beautiful singing voice.

If she'd ever sing for him, he wonders? Or would she have sung for him back when he hadn't laid with Cersei again?

Jaime grimaces to himself, pushing the piece of cloth firmer on the metal as he polishes.

_Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay,_   
_And you've work to do in the morning._   
_Give up your dream of going away,_   
_Forget your sailors in Galway._

_Listen to the music flow,_   
_I'm falling for the flow of home,_   
_I'm home to dance till dawning._

_Stay a while and we'll dance together now,_   
_As the light is falling,_   
_We'll reel away till the break of day,_   
_And dance together till morning._

Jaime tries to get lost in the music, in the sound of her voice, tries to get lost in Galway…

* * *

Later the night, Brienne has taken her seat on the log to take watch while Jaime lies on his side, Gurion propped up right next to his head on the blankets, securely tugged in.

"… I would go with knife tossing," Brienne says with a sigh. At some point, Jaime just started on a conversation about what they can do about his training of the left hand, other than the sparring.

"You only suggest that so that you have something to outmatch me with," Jaime huffs. "I still remember the knife I almost had in my head back in King's Landing."

"I tossed with my _right_ , not my left. Had I tossed with my left, I may have missed and actually hit your head after all," Brienne huffs.

Jaime hides the grin from his lips.

She wasn't aiming at his head? Now _that_ 's a reassurance.

"The good thing is that tossing knives allows you to keep enemies at a distance. Since you have half strength if compared to someone who wields a two-handed sword with both his hands, it'd be good to have a few tactics to keep them away from you, and hence unfolding their greater strength by striking down on you. If you manage to keep them away from you at least for a while, it might buy you the time and opportunity to attack even with the strength of just one arm," Brienne goes on factually. "My master-at-arms always told me that if you are weaker than your enemy in terms of physique, you have to wear him down and attack when he least expects it. Because they _will_ take you for less of an enemy because you miss a hand. They _will_ underestimate you. You have to use that to your advantage."

"Because that is what _you_ do?" he asks with a smile.

Others would probably wonder why Jaime, a more than seasoned knight, even seeks her advice on the matter, but Jaime knows by now that many of the lessons he learned during his knighthood no longer apply to him. Jaime was raised from squire to knight with the promise that he'd be formidable, that he was a natural, naturally swift, naturally strong, gifted with two strong hands to take down any enemy. But now, he is a broken thing.

Jaime had to learn that he is no longer ranging among the best sword fighters in Westeros. He now has things that slow him down, that weaken him, something he didn't have before. And in fact, that is where Brienne turned up as a good source of information. While she is stronger than most men would think her to be, he knows from what she's told him so far that Brienne was educated with the knowledge that she'd lose while Jaime was educated not to lose. She was taught to be conscious of her weaknesses, Jaime of his strengths. In a way, Brienne was better prepared for the reality of being a broken thing.

So yes, Jaime takes her advices seriously indeed.

And her master-at-arms surely knew a few good lessons to teach her, which explains Brienne apparent not only talent but skill, too. Jaime got to feel that every time they sparred, and the bruises her carried from it. The wench knows how to wear an enemy down indeed. And to tell the truth, back by the bridge, Jaime _did_ underestimate her, too, _because_ she is a woman, but that faltered soon once he realised just how well she moved and how much power she can unleash if she puts all of her fury into a blow. He won't ever make the mistake again to underestimate her in her skills, that much is for sure.

From a fighter's perspective, he would really like to see her out of control, though. Because just now Jaime got confirmation for that Brienne is a cautious fighter, who always measures the strength she puts in a blow, who observes the opponent and waits for the right moment to strike. To see her unleashing all of her power and just blindly attack must be fascinatingly frightening to watch.

And really, to _watch_. Jaime wouldn't want to battle Brienne in such a state, no, no thanks.

"That's what I was taught to do. I wear my enemies down," Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders.

"Hm, there might be a point in that. You almost had me there by the bridge, _almost_ ," Jaime grins.

"I _had_ you by the bridge," Brienne rolls her eyes, but has to smile as well.

That argument won't ever be resolved.

"Well, we'll add it to the list, then," Jaime chuckles softly. "That means we ought to get ourselves some rusty daggers once we cross a town again. I wouldn't fancy to make the ones we have blunt by tossing them against trees the whole day."

"I would hit you for it, too," she snorts with a small grin. "But you will do that a good hundred feet away from Gurion. I fear you might hit him with one of the daggers."

"A _hundred_ feet? C'mon, I'm not _that_ bad," Jaime argues.

"Have you tossed a knife yet?" Brienne asks.

"Five hundred times at least," Jaime replies.

"With your _right_ , but your _left_?" Brienne questions.

"You know the answer to that one," Jaime grunts.

"So we don't know how bad you'll be with tossing a knife with your left," Brienne summarises, much to Jaime's annoyance.

"Fifty feet," he debates, amused, however.

"One hundred," she repeats.

"Seventy," Jaime goes on to bargain.

"One hundred," Brienne says.

"You know, when you bargain, you usually meet somewhere in the middle," Jaime grins.

"That would be the case if I was interested in bargaining. You will stay away from Gurion when you toss knives," Brienne tells him.

"That is why _I_ deal with the merchants and not you. We'd always pay the full price, even though it's only worth half the price at best," Jaime huffs.

"But that is not up to debate and not about prices. One hundred, and no foot less," Brienne insists. "I'm not taking any chances."

"Fine," he grins.

"You should sleep now. That's the whole point of taking turns on the watch," Brienne grumbles. "I won't have you complain the following day about your lack of sleep."

"Dearest, I would if it was within my capabilities," he snorts, amused, running his thumb over Gurion's bundled blanket affectionately, making sure it stays in place. "If you want, I might just as well take over the watch. I fear I may not sleep for the rest of the night. I guess it's the full moon or so. That always makes me restless, since early childhood."

"Will you transform into an animal on a full moon?" she huffs, if a little amused.

"I might," he grins. "But no wolf, of course, only a lion, hunting through the night, his mane silvery white in the moon's shine, snarling, baring his white, giant teeth, the paws scratching the stone underneath..."

"Obviously," Brienne snorts, chuckling. "One merry tale to tell Gurion once he is old enough for stories."

"But really, I might just as well take over the watch. There's no sense in both of us staying up to stare at the moon," Jaime huffs, shuffling.

"No, just close your eyes and sleep, by the Gods," Brienne argues vehemently. "Both of us need to be sharp during the day. We are coming closer to the Vale. We have to be careful. Now it might be that it's no longer about Cersei's men chasing us, but it might well be that Baelish got word about us and means to keep us from Sansa and send his own men."

"I know that, Brienne. I'm no fool. I am trying to, rest assured," Jaime argues. "I just can't. But even half asleep I am very sharp, I promise."

"You tell that yourself," she snorts, amused.

"Well, maybe I'll be more tired for the next watch?" Jaime offers, leaning on his forearms, searching her eyes.

"Just lie still and close your eyes. How are you supposed to sleep if you keep talking?" Brienne argues.

"I hoped that the conversation would be boring enough to put me to sleep, but no luck with that," Jaime grins. Brienne rolls her eyes at him, "Then try something else for a change and lie down and sleep. This is like talking to a child."

"I didn't mean to involve you into my troubles," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"You just did," she argues. "Now lie back down and sleep."

"I'm trying," Jaime huffs.

"Not hard enough then. Now do it already before Gurion…," she means to say, but that is when what she meant to warn Jaime about happens and the baby starts to wail, woken from his slumber. Brienne lets out a growl as she gets to her feet and kneels down next to Jaime to take Gurion into her arms. She takes him up, rocking him back and forth as she manoeuvres back to the log to sit down on it. Jaime looks on, hiding the smallest of smiles, because Brienne seems a lot more confident with handling Gurion these days.

And he is more than glad for it.

" _That_ 's what I meant," she mutters, before focusing on their son again. "Shht, shht."

"You talked, too," Jaime chuckles softly, which only earns him a roll of sapphire blue eyes.

"C'mon now, Gurion. Don't listen to the fool of your father and go back to sleep," she mutters, but the baby goes on crying. Brienne blows some loose strands of hair out of her face.

So much to a calm night watch...

Brienne licks her lips, contemplating, but then opens her mouth:

_The Father's face is stern and strong,_   
_he sits and judges right from wrong._   
_He weighs our lives, the short and long,_   
_and loves the little children._

_The Mother gives the gift of life,_   
_and watches over every wife._   
_Her gentle smile ends all strife,_   
_and she loves her little children_

_The Warrior stands before the foe,_   
_protecting us where e'er we go._   
_With sword and shield and spear and bow,_   
_he guards the little children._

_The Crone is very wise and old,_   
_and sees our fates as they unfold._   
_She lifts her lamp of shining gold_   
_to lead the little children._

_The Smith, he labors day and night,_   
_to put the world of men to right._   
_With hammer, plow, and fire bright,_   
_he builds for little children._

_The Maiden dances through the sky,_   
_she lives in every lover's sigh._   
_Her smiles teach the birds to fly,_   
_and gives dreams to little children._

_The Seven Gods who made us all,_   
_are listening if we should call._   
_So close your eyes, you shall not fall,_   
_they see you, little children._   
_Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,_   
_they see you, little children._

Brienne finishes the last note almost not audibly as Gurion drifted off to sleep again. Brienne smiles in relief. She already feared that the child would now decide to train his lungs again.

Just like she is glad that she gets better at calming and caring for the child. While Brienne is still not very convinced of her skills as a mother, she sees that she can still offer him the care he needs and deserves. Jaime told her the other day that she just as to "train". And he is right indeed. Like he has to learn to wield the sword with his left, or toss knives with it, she has to learn and train to do these things.

And despite the words of her Septa, Brienne is not the worst and slowest learner after all, at least when it comes to matters of skill. Because Brienne, trusting Jaime's words, wants to believe this to be something to "train", something to learn, and not something that you are naturally gifted with or not.

Brienne pulls the blanket he is wrapped in a little tighter to make sure he has it warm, smiling softly.

She looks over to Jaime to tell him to keep more quiet from now on, but that is when she realises him fast asleep on the blankets, the lullably seemingly having carried him over to the realm of dreams, too. Brienne wrinkles her nose. Well, for as long as the song makes Jaime sleep as well, Brienne sees no harm in it.

She snorts to herself silently with a smile, focusing on Gurion again.

"So much to your father transforming into a threatening lion on the night of a full moon, huh? More of a sleepy kitten, I fear."


	33. Coming Back and Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and Gurion on the road. 
> 
> Jaime, Brienne, and Gurion running into people. 
> 
> The rest... is in the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. 
> 
> I will start off with an apology for the way too long, way too long update time. 
> 
> This is no joke or cheap excuse, but I really had the Earthmother of Writer's Blocks. The past few weeks it's been so bad to the point that I didn't get... anything written, which was pure torture for me. Add that to personal problems, and here you go with a lethal cocktail to any creative process. 
> 
> I hope that I will get forward with my fanfics from now on again, though I fear I can't make any guarantees at this point - because... well, problems don't just disappear and neither does this fucker of a writer's block. 
> 
> I thank you all for sticking around and being so very patient with me, and for all the kind comments and kudos. You have no idea how those little big things brightened up my days lately. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy.

      

 

Jaime and Brienne are in a tavern, eating stew and bread. They are quite close to the High Road and hence on the best way to the Bloody Gate. What lies beyond that… well, only the Gods will know, but they made good progress now that Brienne is swifter on her feet again, though of course they are still not as fast as they would be if they could ride horses as they liked, but with Gurion, they can’t chance a fast ride on a horse, obviously.

“I don’t think this is a good place for Gurion. It’s too loud,” Brienne mutters, the child tightly secured in the baby sling Sansa made for them.

“He sleeps soundly, woman. Look at him,” Jaime rolls his eyes, taking a sip from his ale. “And I’m in dire need of something warm to eat, and preferably no rat or squirrel.”

While Brienne is still more than overly protective of their cub, she seemingly eases into her new role with every day passing, much to Jaime’s relief. It was hard to watch her in the beginning, as tensed as bow with a too short string, but now she is just, well, a protective mother.

And who could blame her?

Though she can be pretty annoying about it, obviously, because sometimes Brienne goes a little too far in her worry over Gurion. Calling her a lioness would probably be an understatement. Much to both their fortune, the child really proves to be the sleepy type when everything is loud around him. It’s the third time now already that they are in a tavern – and the child always sleeps like a rock when in these places.

Not that Gurion is _always_ very quiet. He takes quite a lot of pleasure in testing his lungs _especially_ throughout the night.

“Once it’s in a broth, it all tastes the same,” Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders

“Let’s just say that I like the illusion of this not being rat or squirrel,” he huffs. “Or both.”

“Could also be badger for all I know,” Brienne replies, her eyes trained on the child.

“You really take a lot of pleasure in this, don’t you?” Jaime grunts.

“No, I just don’t care,” she tells him. “ _In any case_ , we should see to it that we get back on the road thereafter.”

And that is the other thing that annoys Jaime. While it _truly_ comes as no surprise, but ever since Brienne lost the womb in which Gurion lived for the past moons, she is ever the more determined to get to the bloody Bloody Gate. And only the Gods know that her determination is the same as being obsessively stubborn.

“ _No_ , because we will stay here until morn. We didn’t have any incident ever since Gurion came into the world. I am in need of some mattress and cotton sheets that aren’t mingled with mud. And I think the cub would appreciate it, too,” Jaime replies. Brienne opens her mouth to retort something, but she is cut off by one of the bar-maids approaching their table, flashing a broad smile.

“Those are for you,” she says with a wink, putting down to cups in front of them. “Here you go.”

“But we didn’t order these,” Jaime grimaces. Brienne looks at the cups, irritated at the fact that one is filled with water, the other with red wine.

“Ay, no, I know. Someone else’s paid for’em. Over there,” she nods over her shoulder. Brienne and Jaime tilt their heads over to the bar, Brienne’s hand instantly resting on Oathkeeper. The bar-maid walks away to give them full view, and by the bar sits a woman wearing a hood over her head.

When did that woman enter?

And how did she without their notice?

“I will check it out,” Jaime says, getting up from his seat. “You stay here with Gurion.”

Brienne nods tightly, her eyes trained on the hooded woman, noting that she seemingly came alone, since no one else has been looking at Jaime or her, Brienne would have realised that, and sought eye contact with her either.

Jaime walks over and takes the free seat next to her, “My lady, I am to thank you for the kindness of standing us two a drink. Though I can’t come around to ask what brings us to such display of generosity.”

“Why yes, you seemed thirsty,” she replies, still not looking at him. “And I would have stood her a cup of wine, too, but that is no good when she is still feeding a child.”

“Do I know you?” Jaime asks.

“It might be, but we have never spoken to each other,” the woman tells him.

“Look, we mean no trouble,” Jaime begins.

“Neither do I. I am a messenger,” the girl says.

“A messenger for whom?” Jaime questions, feeling his heart beating a little faster.

“Someone you know for certain,” the girl says. “If you want to meet him, you’d have to come with me, though. He can’t meet you in such a public place.”

“So you expect me to follow a stranger to a secluded place where no one will hear my cries?” Jaime huffs.

“I swear by the Gods that I mean you no harm, and neither does the person you are to meet,” the girl says.

“I don’t care for what you may swear to the Gods. Pull off your hood and reveal yourself already, or else I will turn back to my table and stay right where I am,” Jaime tells her in a strong voice. The woman turns to face him. A pretty woman with dark hair and exotic, fair skin looks at him, her smile small, but still self-conscious.

Jaime opens his mouth to say something, but that is when he can feel Brienne’s presence right behind him.

“What part of ‘stay where you are’ did you not understand?” Jaime grunts angrily.

She never listens to him…

“What are _you_ doing here?” Brienne says, her eyes fixed on the woman, who offers a smile.

“You know her?” Jaime blinks at Brienne, who replies, “That is one of the maids Lady Sansa had in King’s Landing.”

“My name is Shae,” the girl says. “If you were so kind to follow me now? I can’t speak here freely. Too many eyes and ears. And in any case, you have two swords. I have none. And if you think I would ever hurt a small child, you are out of your mind.”

“If this is a trick, then I will slay you,” Jaime warns her, his voice leaving no doubt in the sincerity of his words.

“Well, then I am glad for it because I will not be slain, thus,” Shae says, getting up from her seat. Jaime and Brienne follow her wordlessly, always on alert. They exit the tavern and the woman leads them to the outskirt of the small settlement.

Eventually, they find themselves in a small secluded part of the nearby woods, close enough to the town to know what is going on there, but far enough away for one’s words not to carry across the borders of the forest.

“I’m bringing the guests!” she says loudly as they come by a small camp, her tune light, almost like a song. “And I tell you once more, I expect to be sleeping in beds soon enough again!”

“As my lady commands,” a voice rings out from behind a larger rock formation. And as the bearer of the voice steps forward, Brienne’s and Jaime’s air just leaves them.

“Tyrion?!”

“The one and only,” he chuckles softly as he approaches. Jaime is on his knees before his mind can understand the situation to pull his younger sibling close to him, needing the security that this is reality indeed. He touches his unruly hair, feels the fabric of his leather jacket.

This is real.

Tyrion smiles, clapping him on the back, breathing shakily for a moment.

“By the Gods, we feared you were dead,” Jaime says as he pulls away to look at him again.

Here he is, after Jaime already feared that he could only pray for the Gods to mercifully accept him into the Heavens and give him enough wine for all eternities.

“I thought that, too, for a while,” the younger brother shrugs, offering a crooked smile. “I’m sorry for the scare we seemingly gave you, but now so close to the Eyrie, I did not find it a good idea to go to a tavern myself. As a dwarf, you stick out, or well, you stick low, but men wanting my head are surely instructed to look for me.”

“It might be for the best,” Jaime agrees, before curling his lips into a frown. “Podrick?”

Brienne swallows thickly, though she is glad that Jaime asks in her stead. Her voice is failing her at this instant anyway. The words just are just swept away. She envisioned the worst all the while. She thought them dead. She dreamed of two bodies sinking to the bottom of the sea. Again and again. Even if she dared to hope, for brief moments, but then again…

“He’s collecting firewood as we speak. He should be back here shortly,” the younger brother replies. Brienne sends a silent prayer to the Seven for showing that much mercy after all.

That means she didn’t fail them completely.

She didn’t fail them.

They are alive.

They are well.

This is real.

Tyrion looks over at Brienne, his voice rather grave, “My lady. It’s a true relief to see you alive and healthy, after the happenings on the ship…”

Brienne steps closer slowly, as though he was a ghost threatening to disappear at her mere touch. He holds out his hand to her. Brienne takes it wordlessly, her own hand slightly shaking, but then feels the warm press of his fingertips against hers. She presses back gently, her flesh still quivering.

For so long she thought…

But this is no ghost, no dream.

This is real.

This is real.

“And the same can be said about my niece or nephew, as it appears,” Tyrion smiles broadly, nodding at the baby sling.

“Yes,” Brienne says, not managing to say much more. “Your nephew.”

“I already feared that the blow you got back on the boat may have done not only you harm,” Tyrion grimaces, wrinkling his nose at the memory.

“He is all healthy,” Brienne replies with a small smile. “And so am I.”

“A true relief,” Tyrion nods.

“I think my brother would like to hold him, would you not?” Jaime questions with a small smile. While his mind still cannot believe, his heart already leaps into that moment.

This is real.

“Why, yes! I have been waiting for this!” Tyrion chuckles, seemingly sinking into that moment of joy as well. Brienne does quick work to unfasten the baby sling around her shoulders and holds Gurion out to him, “Careful with the head.”

“Of course. The head’s the most important, at least in _my_ view,” Tyrion grins as he takes the bundle in his arms, rocking the babe back and forth on his right arm, the left hand folding back the bit of cloth around Gurion’s chin, stroking his finger against the child’s face, making him gurgle gleefully. “Now, hello there. At last a family member I might like again. He seems to like me.”

He looks at the boy fondly, before tearing his gaze to Jaime and Brienne, “What did you name him?”

“Gurion,” Jaime replies.

“ _The lion cub_. Now, what a wonderful name for a Lannister child, well, half-Lannister, to be exact,” Tyrion smirks, alternating the rhythm, which only makes Gurion gurgle again. “Am I correct that the name may also have to do with me?”

“In fact,” Jaime nods. “Upon Brienne’s suggestion.”

“Now I feel truly honoured,” Tyrion smirks, looking back at the babe in his arms. “Gurion. Ha, what a fortune that the world turned the usual course just once, if only in your favour.”

“But now, you must tell us. What is this? How are you even here?” Jaime urges him.

“Why? I thought you were glad to see me?” Tyrion winks at his older brother.

“How did you escape? The last time I saw you, they knocked you out and threw you into that boat,” Brienne grimaces, calling the pictures to her mind which haunted her in her dreams more often than she’d like to admit.

“Ay, that was no pleasant experience,” Tyrion makes a face. “How about we settle down by the fire? It’s rather fresh anyways.”

They sit down in a circle around the fireplace.

“So, how did you make it?” Jaime asks. “Did you offer them all of the Lannister gold?”

“I did nothing much at all at first. They had knocked me out and thrown into one boat with Pod. They were supposed to bring us further out to the sea, and then kill us, tossing us into the ocean so we may never be found again. To my knowledge, the aim was to set you up as the culprit, m’lady, so there was no use for me, other than removing me as Lady Sansa’s husband,” Tyrion explains. “In any case, when I regained consciousness, we were already far out on the sea, to the point that the shore was out of sight. Well, but that is when Lady Brienne came to our rescue.”

“I beg your pardon?” Brienne blinks at him.

Because she knows she didn’t rescue any of them. She lost them, even if at least those two apparently returned.

“Well, you were so kind to lend me your dagger, no? I slipped it into my boot when we were on deck, knowing that I wouldn’t be of any use against so many men. They seemingly didn’t think the Imp would carry a weapon, so they didn’t search me for it…,” Tyrion says, but then turns his head as Podrick approaches with a pile of firewood.

“Ser Jaime, Ser, uhm, my lady Brienne,” the lad nods tightly as he sets down the wood. “It’s good to see you.”

“Pod, I am more than relieved and glad to see you alive and healthy,” Jaime tells him, offering a warm smile, patting the lad on the shoulder once.

“I feel the same,” Brienne manages to say, the air still catching in her lungs for the most part. The lad nods at her, offering a crooked smile.

“Come sit with us, Pod,” Tyrion nods at the empty seat. The lad follows suit and plops down next to him.

This really must be a dream…

“As I was saying,” Tyrion goes on. “They didn’t search me for weapons.”

“They didn’t see that I had one, too,” Brienne mumbles, thinking back to the ship.

“Well, it must have been our fortune that they were of the simpler kind, then. So when they still thought me unconscious, I could use the moment to cut Pod here loose. He is much better at fighting than me after all. He already proved that by the Blackwater Bay. So once they meant to toss us overboard, very much like Father would have liked to do with me, the lad did one fine job to fight them off. One should never underestimate the power one is granted in the face of certain death, “Tyrion goes on to explain.

“I just blindly threw myself at them,” Pod shrugs, seemingly embarrassed.

“Marvellously so, Pod, marvellously so,” Tyrion argues. “In any case, Pod here managed to overpower them eventually. I did my best to help, of course. Once they were off the boat, we wanted to head back to the shore, obviously, but fate was not on our side. We were caught up in a storm.”

“Oh, by the Seven,” Brienne says, touching her forehead, her eyes almost exploding into blue pools as she listens to the story.

Not just that they get caught up in such misery thanks to her, but then they were caught in a storm? The Gods may be merciful at times, but at other times they truly like to play their cruel japes.

“Nothing to fear, my lady, for we are here now, right? We were taken away by the current and almost swept off the boat, or the wrecks that remained of it. Once the storm ceased, we found ourselves nowhere close to the shore, just blue waters around us, and a hardly floating ship… A bigger ship passed us by… and they took us along. Sadly, those were no nice fellows, but more of the category of murderers, pirates, and slave traders. I tried to bargain with them with little success, because I obviously mislaid my pouch back on the ship to Tarth, so I couldn’t give them anything in return for a safe passage back to Westeros,” Tyrion goes on.

“What a trouble,” Jaime grunts.

“We were shipped off to Pentos. While _of course_ there are _no_ slaves there, by law… there are markets that are more than willing to take a young, strong lad and a dwarf, if only to serve in the circus. One of the men implied that some even would want a dwarf’s dick to use as a potency remedy or so, something I obviously didn’t favour at all… Well, the people so kind to take us hoped to make a good bargain for us both…,” Tyrion goes on. “I managed to prolong the moment of truth by insulting the possible customers, for a couple of days… Gladly, someone bought us who didn’t really want us for a slave, then, before I ran out of insults.”

“You think you are not my slave?” Shae grins, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Well, I have considerable freedoms, let’s say,” Tyrion chuckles softly.

“So you bought them,” Jaime nods.

“Yes. He’s given me quite a lot of money before he sent me off to the Free Cities. Though he is still expected to pay me back. After all, the money was a gift,” Shae says with a smile.

“She’s as greedy as a Lannister,” Tyrion shakes his head with a chuckle.

“By the Gods…,” Brienne leans her head back.

Bloody misfortune mingled with tons of fortune. The world is an odd place finding balance at absolute imbalance.

“Well, eventually news reached us that the Foolish King died and that Lady Brienne was considered one of the suspects for having taken Lady Sansa – and possibly killing me, too, for she was the only suspect found alive. We got ourselves a ship and travelled back. By the time we reached land, you had already escaped and were searched by men of the Red Keep, or so we learned,” Tyrion explains.

“How did you find us, then?” Jaime grimaces. “We did fairly well at hiding, I daresay.”

“Oh, you did, but you shouldn’t underestimate me. It was safe to assume that your general direction would be towards the Vale in search of Sansa,” the younger brother says.

“How did you know that?” Jaime asks.

“We landed in Tarth. At first we hoped that you had found refuge there. We didn’t know everything by the time, and Tarth seemed a safe place to turn to for a start, since Lord Selwyn had already agreed to granting us amnesty. People in Pentos have little interest in what is going on in Westeros beyond a certain level affecting themselves,” Tyrion replies. “By the way, kindest regards from your Father.”

“Is he alright?” Brienne asks.

“He is in good health and he was glad for you having escaped the clutches of the Red Keep. He wants me to let you know that he would have marched against the Iron Throne, had Jaime not interrupted before he had gathered his army,” Tyrion tells her. Brienne offers a crooked smile.

He is alright, that is all that matters to her. She already feared that he would have done something reckless, or even worst, that Cersei would have used him to lure them out.

“I learned from him that Olenna Tyrell visited and told him about the situation at present. So he could give us the information she had shared with him before, and hence set us on the mockingbird shit’s trail,” Tyrion huffs, his face in a tight grimace at the mentioning of Baelish.

“So alright, you knew to where we are heading, but how did you find us _here_?” Jaime grimaces

“I am a smart little dwarf, what can I say? It’s not that hard to predict your path, given the information we had, and knowing that you know how to stay hidden and off the usual paths, but still not far away under the premise that Lady Brienne was still with child. That meant that you’d take longer than we would, since we had the luxury of a ship. So we could sail towards the Vale and then work our way back down South in search for you. Shae and Pod asked around for stories about the Kingslayer, a one-handed man and a pregnant woman in whatever town we passed, the usual things… eventually, we had our confirmation that you had an almost run-in with a bunch of hedge swords who were looking for you – trying to get the bounty that’s on both your heads. This is one of the best towns to take a rest before proceeding to the Eyrie. So we just waited till you’d come this way,” Tyrion replies.

“How did you learn about the hedge swords?” Jaime asks.

“One of them passed by a few towns over. He was dead drunk in one of the inns. He stank like a rat,” Shae replies. “He was very angry that you managed to escape them in the rain – and hence cut him out of the money they wanted to get for bringing you back to King’s Landing. After all, they thought they almost had you in that inn you stayed at.”

“That was the night Gurion was born,” Jaime replies.

“Oh, what a trouble,” Shae grimaces. “That may have ended badly for you all.”

Tyrion makes a face, nodding in agreement.

“It was not at all like we had it planned, but the child and the mother were gladly alright,” Jaime says, offering Brienne a small smile.

“Do you know anything about Lady Sansa other than that she is with Baelish?” Brienne asks, biting her lower lip.

“I fear I know about as much as you do. I just know that they were on the way to the Eyrie, and probably reached that place a while back. I have worked my entire network, but nothing substantial yet,” Tyrion replies. “However sad that is, for that bastard stole my lady wife.”

“ _Network_?” Jaime makes a face. “I reckoned that you’d want to stay out of everyone’s sight. Now that they believe you dead, no one’s looking for you. Don’t you want that to stay that way?”

“I am not dead, I am a ghost, haunting Westeros. And anyways, I know a few people who don’t care if I am dead or alive – and still give me information if I need it,” Tyrion shrugs.

“Varys?” Jaime grins.

“Varys,” Tyrion nods. “Or well, his birds, should I rather say? Though news reached me that he might head across the sea soon, looking for some dragons…”

“But why did you search for us, then, if you knew that we’re on the run?” Jaime asks. “I mean, you could have headed back to Pentos once you knew us _safe_.”

“Well, of course to see after my newest kin, what did you expect? That I missed your ugly face so much?” Tyrion snorts. Jaime shakes his head with a smile, so Tyrion goes on more seriously, “I want to help you find and save Sansa, but the way you handle it now, you won’t manage, that’s obvious.”

“What? You think that you can help us fight off the people holding her?” Jaime huffs.

“Not at all, but I want to make it easier for you to fight them off. I pave the way, you walk it,” Tyrion says.

“How do you intend to pave the way for us?” Brienne asks.

“I have a network of friends you can turn to. At the same time, I can make sure that your _treasure_ stays safe. You can’t take my nephew along if you want to get Sansa,” Tyrion replies.

Jaime and Brienne look at each other, blinking.

“So we are supposed to leave Gurion to you?” Jaime says. While the thought played through his mind that they’d have to give Gurion away until they’d get Sansa out of the Vale, it somehow tugs at his very being to let go of the child.

After all, he’s theirs.

“You are supposed to let us take care of him until you’re back, yes. I am good with children!” Tyrion says. “He already loves me. Look at his face!”

“What do you think?” Jaime asks Brienne, whose face is a blank slate, “We can’t expose Gurion to the dangers of that mission, but where would you stay to ensure your and his safety? You yourself can’t cross towns as you please, for you will likely be recognised. If Cersei gets word of you being alive, which may happen any time, you are in a lot of danger, which is why you likely stay away from towns yourself.”

“We’ll keep haunting Westeros,” Shae says.

“Right. We will simply keep on the move around the area. Since people believe me dead, no one will go looking for us unless I am uncovered as Tyrion Lannister, something that I can make pretty sure of not to happen for as long as we do what you did before, which is to keep moving and keep away from the settlements,” Tyrion says. “In fact, Shae, Pod and I are the safest option to leave Gurion to at this point. You can trust us, and we have the means to ensure his safety.”

“We weren’t discovered once since we have been on this track,” Shae adds. Brienne bites her lower lip, contemplating, her fingers clenching and unclenching.

“But before we get down to business,” Tyrion says, hopping off of the log he sat on to give Gurion back to Brienne, which successfully keeps her from flexing her hands, “I would like to have a private word with my brother. How about the ladies use the time to get familiar with my nephew’s needs and kinks?”

“Alright,” Brienne nods, offering Shae and Tyrion a shy smile.

“Then c’mon, brother,” Tyrion says, waving at Jaime to follow him further into the woods. “We won’t be gone long.”

The two head into the woods until they find a small stream. Tyrion sits down on one of the big stones, Jaime does the same.

“So…,” Tyrion exhales, looking at the steady movement of the water.

“So?” Jaime grimaces.

“… How do things stand between you and Brienne?” Tyrion asks, not looking at the older brother.

“For _that_ you pulled me away from the camp?” Jaime snorts disbelievingly.

“I need you to answer me that question,” Tyrion insists, suddenly very serious.

“I messed up, what am I supposed to say? She… accepts me, I reckon. She won’t talk about the matter… and she still believes that all of my affection flows from Gurion. How is that of any relevance at _this_ point, though?” Jaime questions.

“Are you still in doubt about your feelings? After all you have been through? I always knew that you are not as smart as I, but I took you for not so dense,” Tyrion huffs.

“The problem is no longer that I am in doubt about what she is to me. The thing is that I broke her trust, and while I do my best to get it back, we are in a strange kind of sword dance ever since we got back together on the road,” Jaime tells him. “That still doesn’t explain the urgency of your inquiry.”

“Because it seems that I have responsibility in this, too,” Tyrion grimaces.

“You mean to say? As far as I know, you and Brienne do not share that kind of… _relationship_?” Jaime makes a face, to which the younger man only rolls his eyes.

“… There is something that I didn’t tell you back in King’s Landing. And now that I see what took place between you and Lady Brienne… I see that I should have told you. Then maybe I would have prevented that whole mess,” Tyrion goes on, making Jaime frown only more. “I think I don’t understand.”

“… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to do something stupid, something reckless. I know you as an impulsive man after all. But foremost, I didn’t want to hurt you,” Tyrion says. Jaime can only grimace at him. He rarely saw Tyrion apologetic about anything.

“Just say it. The river’s not deep enough to even drown you in it,” Jaime winks at him.

“… During your time of captivity, Cersei slept with Lancel,” Tyrion then says. Jaime blinks at him, then at the small stream, then the sky, folding his arms in front of his chest. “The boy’s admitted it to me when I pressed him for information.”

“Coz Lancel…,” Jaime lets the words spill out of his mouth like mist.

“When you came back and I saw you and Brienne… and once I heard that she was with your child… I didn’t know about your… _problems_. I thought you’d already made the choice for _her_ , so I said to myself that it might be best not to burden you with that knowledge, that anger. I thought you’d already… moved past our dear sister,” Tyrion says. “But now that I know that you went back to her again after all… I should have told you, then maybe you wouldn’t have sought out her bed back in King’s Landing. And you and Brienne would be maybe not happy now, but not as unhappy as you probably are.”

“Why didn’t you say anything on the day you sailed?” Jaime asks, his face and voice not giving away any hint.

“… To tell the truth… I feared that you’d… hate me for it. And however selfish it was of me, I didn’t want to part from you in anger. It was too late anyways. The damage was already done. So why would I leave you with that additional stab in the side?” the younger brother says with a strained grimace.

“I wouldn’t have hated you for that,” Jaime assures him.

“Would you not?” Tyrion huffs.

“I would have been angry, probably, but it would have been unjust,” Jaime shrugs.

“So? What of it? Are you jealous now?” Tyrion questions.

“… I would have been, had I heard of it, say, during my captivity. I would have… I would have wanted to scream and shout at her, if not worse. I would have been furious, raging,” Jaime admits. “It would have brought about within me some very… dark emotions and thoughts, I’m sure.”

“Jealousy is a vicious thing, truly,” Tyrion nods with a grimace. “But what of it if you had learned later on? What of it now?”

“Now… now I am… disappointed, maybe. It stings, I admit, but… I cheated on her, too, so… I can’t really blame her for it now,” Jaime says, the corners of his mouth flexing.

“That sounds almost wise, careful,” Tyrion chuckles slightly nervously.

“Not wise, resigned, maybe. I feel anger for this woman, but I don’t feel it for her being angry at me, or even for trying to separate Brienne and me. That was _my_ doing, I see that now. I had quite some time to juggle these thoughts, staring at the ceilings of the Red Keep, after you were gone. I feel angry for it that she meant to kill Brienne and the child. If she had been angry only just at me, I would have understood. She’s had reason for it,” Jaime says, hugging his chest pensively.

“Well, about as much as _you_ had,” Tyrion argues.

“We both did it, in the end… The thing is, the moment I really had the wish to strangle the life out of her was when Cersei said and meant that she’d kill a child, an innocent child, out of hurt feelings of pride and grief. She lost Joff, she should know the pain and not wish it upon others. For _that_ I feel hatred for her, but not… for _this_ , no. Well, and Lancel? Who can blame the lad for wanting to try his luck with the Queen, huh? He’s too young for this anyways… and that means I can’t feel hatred for you either. You did it to protect me. And I can’t hold you responsible for not protecting me from my own foolishness,” Jaime says, looking at his younger sibling with a soft expression this time. “It’s truly not on you. That’s nothing you have to carry on your small shoulders.”

“I thank you,” the younger man says, letting a sigh of relief. This must have weighted heavily on him, Jaime thinks to himself. Tyrion is usually not the one to beat himself up about a matter, but Jaime knows well enough that this expression is meant in all sincerity.

“So… Cersei is…,” Tyrion grimaces at him.

“Out of my mind most of the time. I have a hard time remembering her face these past days,” Jaime admits. “She only rages up like a flame when I think of the situation she forced Gurion and Brienne into, but… as for the rest… she disappears in the smoke each day more.”

It’s odd, really, to think that she was the only thing on his mind for such a long time, was the woman that made him be on fire in passion and in rage, but now grew to be some mist at the horizon, fading away with every day passing, leaving only a dull ache in his limbs.

Most of the time he calls her to mind, Jaime finds his fist and his phantom fist tighten for that she meant to do Brienne and the child so much harm. Sister or not, lover or not, Jaime grew to hate her for that one particular act. Because that is something grief over one’s own child does not forgive or justify. She may have cursed him for it, she may have punched him for it, though of course the fact that she also did it makes him feel a bit less guilty about it, but she still had no right to harm the child, or Brienne.

And that after he used to believe that she wouldn’t ever do such a thing to him. Because in fact she wanted to, in fact she did, had the Tyrells and he not prevented it.

“But how do you mean to resolve all this now? With you and Brienne?” Tyrion questions.

“I once told you how the matters of my heart are not really your business,” Jaime chuckles softly.

“And I told you that I’m one of the few true friends you can call your own. I have interest in you two resolving this somehow,” Tyrion says, now with a bit of a grin.

“What’s it to you? You have quite keen interest in what is between her and me, curiously so. Not to mention that you proved yet again that you can’t follow a simple command like not telling Brienne that I was the one who had the armour made for her,” Jaime snorts.

“I’m interested in my brother’s wellbeing, obviously. I think she does you good. The problem is that you seemingly didn’t do her good back in King’s Landing,” Tyrion shrugs.

“Exactly,” Jaime huffs.

“But _now_ you do, well, at least I hope so. If I get word from her that you treated her unkindly, I will have Shae slap you. She knows how to slap you so that it really hurts, believe me,” Tyrion huffs.

“The woman you love, ay?” Jaime smirks. “The woman you let go?”

“The woman I let go just to be found by her again. I suppose that if the Gods had their hands in this bit of destiny, I am to thank them for it,” Tyrion shrugs with a smile.

“And your lady wife?” Jaime cocks an eyebrow at him.

“If you mean to hint at me breaking my vow to Sansa, I did not. I stick to my part of the vow the best I can,” Tyrion tells him, and in fact seems to insist. Jaime shakes his head.

People do change after all.

If only for those they love.

“She wouldn’t ever know, and I think she wouldn’t care either,” Jaime shrugs.

“But _I_ care. Though I hope that for her own sake, there’s a way to undo this marriage. She won’t ever be happy with the likes of me. If Sansa is to wed, she should have someone she has true feelings for, or rather, a person of her own choice, and not just someone tossed to her feet, someone whom she respects and doesn’t just care about at best, however much was left of it ever since the mockingbird bore his claws into my dear lady wife,” Tyrion argues. “I wouldn’t find it unlikely that Baelish’s told her some not so merry tales about you, Lady Brienne, and me, to pull her to the birds’ songs of the Vale.”

“Same here… And Shae is fine with you not breaking your vow to Sansa?” Jaime tilts his head.

“She grew to accept it, I suppose. Back in King’s Landing she did not. But she cares about Sansa. Getting her free is the most important for now. She shares that view with me,” Tyrion replies.

He was surprised himself that when he and Shae met again, there was not just a wave of passion flaring back up in them both, but that the distance had put a few things into perspective for them, such as this cause, which was a great source of argument for them back in King’s Landing.

Suddenly it seemed as though both just… understood – and saw that what they share goes deeper than what they ever pictured.

“It’s awful to do the right thing,” Jaime huffs.

“You have no idea,” Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Being a bad man is so much easier. It’s just not as much worth, I fear… and Brienne wouldn’t ever take someone unworthy, would she?”

_She took me, for a while_ , Jaime thinks to himself solemnly, but instead he says, “She would not, surely.”

“Well, so we have to see about it that we somehow make you worth the load of work you are,” Tyrion says.

“… Playing match maker does not suit you, brother,” Jaime huffs.

“This is mere self-interest. I’m none of the charitable people, you should know. It has quite a practical reason that I would want you and Lady Brienne together at last,” Tyrion replies.

“Which would be?” Jaime frowns. “Now that Cersei is out of the picture?”

“Well, _imagine_ that you split up after Sansa’s safe. I’d have so much travelling to do to see either one of you. Not to mention what a strain it’d be on my nephew. No, no, I would rather have a bit of peaceful family life in the near future. You know what Father used to say, about the family being the most important… It seems to me that maybe he’s spoken some truth with that, though he’d never have known, picturing the Rock instead of his kin,” Tyrion says thoughtfully.

“I bet Father has heart attack after heart attack wherever he gets to stay eternity, caught between the joy of having an heir for Casterly Rock… and two of his sons being outlaws, while his daughter does however she pleases in King’s Landing. Not the Lannister Empire he wanted to build on the Rock, I am sure,” Jaime huffs.

“I hope his place in death is a giant shit house,” Tyrion chuckles softly. “I would have paid money to see that. No one managed to ridicule our Father in his life, but the Stranger managed to make him die a fool. Ha!”

There is a moment of silence before the younger brother goes on with more sincerity, “That still doesn’t change anything about you and Brienne.”

“Well, my brother dear, as I said, the problem is not that I’m in question about my feelings for her anymore. I know what I feel for her, I do it _now_ , but I didn’t back when it mattered. I made more than one mistake that closed _that_ door, I fear,” Jaime sighs, looking on to the small stream.

“Doors can be opened again,” Tyrion argues.

“We can’t go back to where we were,” Jaime argues.

“Then build a new door and walk through it, by the Seven,” Tyrion shrugs. “You do realize that you are each other’s future whether you like it or not?”

“Tell that the wench,” Jaime snorts.

“You both have to see that if you both have intention to be parent to my nephew, you’ll be stuck together anyways. That means you have to figure out what you are to each other,” Tyrion argues.

“I know all that,” Jaime exhales. He rather pushes the thoughts of the distant future away from him, very much like Brienne, but of course he is aware of the implications of all this.

“I mean, of course you can hope that once you tag after her long enough, she’ll just say to herself that you are perhaps the only source for a good fuck, but I don’t think that is a favourable life for either one of you,” the younger man shrugs.

“The thing is that… I broke the bond of trust we had. And that was what held us together. The only thing I can do now is to be there for her – and do my best to earn some of her trust again. I owe her that much,” Jaime says.

“And that is why you are on that quest with her now,” Tyrion nods. “I mean, other than doing what was the goddamn right thing to get her out of that situation and to safety, obviously.”

“Exactly,” Jaime agrees. “Look, I tried to talk to her about the matter, several times. But she has good reason not to believe me. How is she supposed to believe someone who didn’t believe himself when it mattered? She still thinks my affection is grounded on her being our child’s mother alone.”

Jaime tried a few times again after Gurion was born, but Brienne brushed it off before it ever got to an actual conversation, stating that she wasn’t ready for it, her eyes trained on Gurion most of the time. And Jaime got the implication of that glance, the unspoken words of “it’s him you are concerned about anyway” lingering in the air as though they were hanging by invisible threads in front of their faces.

“Well, that is one of the things the quest without child would more or less conveniently rule out,” Tyrion argues.

“Oh yes, because going on a deadly mission is _just_ the romantic gesture it’d take to win a woman’s heart,” Jaime huffs.

“Well, we are talking about Lady Brienne,” Tyrion grins. “She’s special after all.”

“You know how I mean it. At this point, Brienne’s only focus is on Gurion and Sansa. Everything else has to wait until we have her. I know her well enough to tell that much for certain. It’s already a miracle that she delayed her quest to getting Sansa in favour of the by the time unborn child,” Jaime argues. “She would have fought them pregnant just as well, I’m sure.”

“Well, but you could still use the time until you get to the Eyrie,” Tyrion insists.

“That doesn’t mean it will work, though,” Jaime argues.

“There is just one guarantee in life, and that is death,” Tyrion replies.

“Now, that’s morbid,” Jaime huffs.

“It’s the truth. Everything can happen. Fathers die on the shit house. Ships sink. Life itself is chaos. Only death is the absolute to unite us all,” Tyrion exhales. “But enough of that. What I mean to say is that you have to think about that from now on again. I know that the priority is on Sansa, but if you wait too long, well, doors close, as you say, and some get iron bars in front if you don’t watch it.”

“I know,” Jaime grunts.

“So what would happen to you thereafter, given that we all survive for _some_ reason?” Tyrion asks.

“I don’t know,” Jaime shrugs.

“You didn’t ask yourself that question yet?” the younger brother makes a face.

“Not once since I heard about what happened to you guys on the voyage to Tarth,” Jaime admits.

He didn’t dare to think further into the future. It was making it from one day to the next.

Bloody survival.

“You are blind in love, as it appears,” Tyrion shakes his head with a smile.

“As it appears…,” Jaime chuckles softly.

“Well, what do you expect to happen? That you two just _end up_ building a house, and grow vegetables in the garden? She chops the wood while you tend to the dear children?” Tyrion snorts.

“Don’t mock my dreams,” Jaime cries out in mock exasperation.

“What is it that you want, Jaime?” Tyrion asks, now very serious, looking his brother directly in the eye.

“The things I can’t have. That is one of the most basic troubles of my very… being. I always want the things I can’t have,” Jaime replies.

“If all people always only wanted the things they could have, then there wouldn’t be wars,” Tyrion shrugs his shoulders.

“What a splendid time that would be,” Jaime huffs.

“Splendid, perhaps, but also dull. Life should be a bit of a challenge once in a while,” Tyrion grins.

“So a bit of war,” Jaime tilts his head to the side.

“Not _war_. Just some things worth fighting for,” Tyrion shrugs, but then leans closer. “Because I know that one thing is to you. And it’d be a pity not to have it within your arm’s reach.”

Jaime wrinkles his nose, choosing not to comment.

“Going back to the question: What do you want for your life once the deed is done?” Tyrion asks.

“If it is ever done, you mean?” Jaime snorts.

“Yes,” Tyrion replies.

“If I could choose and fortune was on my side for only one more time… I would just love to live a life at peace, and hope that enough honour was rebuilt for me to fetch from till the day I die,” Jaime exhales. “See my child grow up…”

“And if not?” Tyrion questions.

“Then at least… die in the arms of the woman I love,” Jaime says, not looking at him.

“If she isn’t the one to kill you,” Tyrion chuckles.

“Isn’t that always the dance of love? It either kills you or is the Heavens already?” Jaime grins.

“True… at some point, it seems to me that the hardest part is really that we can’t choose who we love,” Tyrion says.

“Very true,” Jaime agrees.

“How many hearts would not be broken, how many tears would stay unshed if only we could love the person of our choice…?” Tyrion goes on, his voice almost a song.

“Millions,” Jaime nods. Tyrion gets up from his seat, “Well, but with you it’s apparently another case.”

“What? Why is that?” Jaime makes a face.

“It doesn’t matter that you didn’t choose whom you love,” Tyrion says.

“Why so?” Jaime makes a face.

“Someone chose to love you before you ever thought about it. That makes it a whole lot easier than a love not returned,” Tyrion argues. “And if you think that she didn’t love you, you are out of your mind, dear brother. I saw the look on both your faces. If not for that, be sure I would have intervened – and knocked some sense into you both. I know that gaze. I should know, observing people is what I do.”

“It is no longer returned in that way,” Jaime argues.

“But it once was – and might be again, if you could stop wallowing in self-pity. Find new ways, new paths. That’s what I did, and see me now. A ghost, yet surrounded by those he cares about. Father would surely be proud of me,” Tyrion says. “So anyways, think about the offer I made concerning the quest of getting Sansa.”

“Does that mean I have to do _all_ the convincing for Brienne? She might cut off my head, still, and simply doesn’t so she doesn’t upset Shae and Pod,” Jaime mewls dramatically. “She is protective of the cub up to the point of sheer violence. She might kill me!”

“One problem less,” Tyrion chuckles as he turns to head back to the camp.

“Those are the things I truly didn’t miss you for,” Jaime snorts, walking with him.

“But you missed me in all the other ways,” Tyrion chuckles. “Let’s head back to the camp.”

Jaime pats him on the back, “I’m glad you are alive.”

“I’m glad that you’re alive, too.”

* * *

 

“… So you think Tyrion is right? That we should give Gurion to him?” Brienne asks later the day. They returned to the tavern to spend the night, after all, Jaime already paid the room behind Brienne’s back when they entered the tavern, so it’d be unwise to not use the opportunity. Gurion is propped up in his blanket, his back resting against Brienne’s thighs as she has them slightly drawn up. Her long fingers toying with the hem of blanket absently.

“The question is if you…,” Jaime means to say, but she interrupts him, “I asked for your opinion. I make up my mind on my own.”

Jaime leans his head back against the headrest, arms folded in the nape of his neck, “I think he made some valid points. As much as I would love to stay with Gurion all day long and not care about the rest of the world anymore, the same world is turning and turning and turning. We are running out of time. We don’t know what Baelish might be up to with Sansa. We have to get her out of his clutches, but we won’t manage with a child in arm, I think. We’d be too much in worry about him.”

Brienne looks down on the bundle against her drawn-up legs, sleeping intently.

“I want his safety, too,” she mutters.

“I know,” Jaime agrees, his voice no more than a whisper, but then speaks up in a lighter tune, “Well, Tyrion is good with children, except for Joffrey, he smacked him a couple of times, as far as I know.”

“Who wouldn’t have?” Brienne snorts, but then catches herself. “I mean…”

She mentally scolds herself. Sometimes Brienne tends to forget that Joffrey was his child, too. It’s not alright to talk about a man’s dead child in that manner, no matter what a character that child may have been.

Stupid thing!

Stupid!

Stupid!

“No, no, it’s alright. He deserved _that_ bit. He was a brat, no way around it. In the end, I think Tyrion did the world a favour by doing it, or rather, he didn’t by not doing it often enough. That child would have needed more monitoring. Something his entire family should have realised and executed before he did what he did,” Jaime replies. “I included.”

He really appreciates it that she tries not to insult his other children, respecting that they are his, no matter if he was there for them or not. She’d never know how much he does – and how much it astonishes him that she still finds the strength within her to do that.

Jaime sees many things differently now that he can gaze into a child’s eyes he calls his. He should have been there for the children, no matter what Cersei may have said. She didn’t have to know. He could have tried to act more like their uncle, not their father, but uncle. Maybe he would have managed to get some sense into that boy before he morphed into that wicked creature an entire nation hated.

But Jaime also sees that thinking about the maybes won’t undo the reality that Joff died, and died a vicious creature. And only the Gods will know if any of his ministration would have changed Joff’s course in life. Perhaps it was his fate after all, and even if not, one can never tell how much was simply born into his character, or how much of Cersei’s and his sin ebbed into the boy.

“In any case… If we want to get Sansa, this is likely the best option…,” Brienne tells him after a moment of silence. “It _is_ the best option.”

The only option that guarantees Gurion’s safety to at least some degree – and them a way to get to Lady Sansa.

Her voice is almost not audible anymore, “At some point I must agree, though.”

“To what?” he asks, turning his head to her slightly.

“When he’s like this, I just don’t want to care about the world anymore,” Brienne admits, eyes fixed on Gurion, readjusting the blanket into which he is wrapped once more.

She may have been afraid of holding him at first, but now she doesn’t want to let go of him.

Jaime grimaces at her with a sad smile. He knows that this tears at Brienne in just the wrong ways. She came such a long way to be more or less comfortable as perceiving herself as a mother. And she loves Gurion more fiercely than people will ever know. She loves him to the point that she would have given her life for him, if not more, if only to have him checked out by a healer, by the Gods.

“I don’t want to leave him,” she goes on feebly.

At some point she honestly fails to understand how her father could let her go to war if he felt the same kind of pain in his chest.

How did he ever cope with that?

How does he cope with that still?

“Neither do I,” Jaime replies, running his left index finger over the babe’s scalp, down the side of his face.

It’s hot poker right in the guts to even think about letting him go, not feeling that sensation.

“I just always think back to the day we knew for certain that I was with child. Back then I thought I wouldn’t even know how to hold one, but now…,” Brienne breathes, running her hand along the fabric, her fingers brushing past Jaime’s like a feather for a bare moment, and Jaime completes, “Life without him seems unbearable.”

“Yeah…,” she sighs, but then says with her usual determined voice. “And that is why we have to do it. This is no life for him. Life without him is unbearable, so we have to make sure that we don’t lose him, don’t endanger him. So the best we can do is… to let your brother take care of him. So we can get Lady Sansa and make sure Gurion’s safe at the same time.”

“Right,” Jaime agrees. “We have to balance both these acts, both these vows. For Sansa. And for him.”

“So I guess we are riding up to the Eyrie a lot faster now.”

* * *

 

And so Jaime and Brienne find themselves far sooner readying the horses for a quest towards the Vale, the outcome still manifested in the realm of the unknown, trying to ready themselves for that one thing neither one wants to do, but knows needs to be done.

Eventually, they leave the inn and head into the woods to meet up with Tyrion, Shae, and Pod, who are already awaiting them.

Brienne is glad for it that she chose to put on the armour today, now that they are to ride out towards the Eyrie. It makes her feel less open like a wound, less vulnerable.

As though the armour might work to keep her together.

“Ah, there you are!” Shae calls out to them, offering a small yet warm smile.

“Here we are,” Jaime nods.

“Ah, right, before we get to it, I forgot something yesterday,” Tyrion says.

“Now I’m curious,” Jaime chuckles, before letting out a nervous cough.

“Oh, you should be,” the younger brother replies, motioning at a rather large, rectangular leather pouch. Jaime frowns as Tyrion hands it over to him, “I only got it finished once I was in Pentos. I had the designs down before, but well, now it’s usable at last.”

Jaime opens the bag to find in it five compartments in which are small constructions made of metal, “What is that?”

“ _That_ is something I felt inspired to make ever since I saw what Brienne was so kind to provide for you, that knife you had tailored for him?” Tyrion tilts his head at Brienne, who was more absorbed into rocking Gurion back and forth. She blinks at him, “Yes.”

“Well, I hoped to get it done before we took off towards Tarth, but… we were quite busy with other things by the time. I finished it now, however. This is supposed to be a bit of a more useful replacement for your golden hand,” Tyrion replies. “A dagger, a mace, a flail, and my absolute favourite, a small crossbow. And trust me, those things are tricky to make because making a small bow that’s still effective is not an easy task. The fifth is the construction with which you are supposed to fix it around your arm.”

Jaime stares at the metal constructions, and the metal seems to shine back at him.

A new hand?

“I would have wanted it to be of better material, but it’s solid steel, so it should hold. Obviously, it’s still in the test-phase, so you’ll have to see how it works and do adjustments where necessary,” Tyrion goes on. “Pod messed with them a bit and it seemed to work most of the time. Except for that one time he almost shot me with one of the arrows.”

“I said that I’m better with the longbow,” Pod argues. “And for you to stay away at a safe distance, m’lord.”

“I am… speechless yet again,” Jaime blinks repeatedly, running his fingertips over the steel.

“That is music in my ears,” Tyrion chuckles softly. “But of course we got something for the lady as well. I am sorry that I can’t help with much more than a good crossbow that is quite easy to reload, and is smaller than most – and something your father entrusted us to give to you. Shae, would you be so good?”

Shae walks over to Brienne give her a small blue velvet bag, “He said that you’d know what it is.”

Brienne takes it, feeling the object within, a small smile flashing over her features, like a feather’s touch.

“Yes,” Brienne nods, still blinking at it, closing her fingers around the object in her palm. “Thank you.”

“Well, I think you still have enough deposits?” Tyrion goes on questioning.

“Yes,” Jaime nods. He saw to that before he left for Massey’s Hook.

One of the few good things the Lannister name always held – gold, gold, gold.

“Then I fear that is all we can do at this point,” the younger man grimaces, and it becomes clear that he surely kept up the delightful attitude to somehow make this easier for Brienne and Jaime.

Brienne is the one to take action first, unfastening the baby sling around her neck, “Jaime?”

He nods, stepping over to her to take Gurion into his arms once more. He presses his mouth against the child’s scalp, feeling the soft curls against his face, trying to scorch those sensations and memories into his mind so they shall always be as clear as the sky to him.

Gods, this should be easier. He’s left children into other people’s care before, in the widest sense, but _this_? He can hardly keep his hand from shaking.

Even his phantom hand seems to shake.

Jaime doesn’t even want to picture how it must be like for Brienne.

Brienne bites her lower lip as she holds out the baby sling to Shae, but the other woman closes her hand around the fabric, “Maybe you want to keep it? We have one. While I’m sure you don’t need anything to remind yourself of him… it’d might still be a comfort, or raise your spirits?”

Brienne blinks, stunned for a moment, but then gives a nod, folding the sling before stuffing it into her pouch.

It is for the best. It is for the best. It is for the best.

“Oh yes, and I drew a map of the Eyrie and the palace as far as I could remember from what I’ve seen. If you have to break into the palace, it might come in handy, though I obviously didn’t see much of that during my vacation there, and I had to fetch it all from memory, so I make no guarantees for this being absolutely accurate,” Tyrion goes on. “It’s in the pouch as well, brother.”

Jaime grimaces, exchanging a quick look with the blonde woman before he steps back over to Shae to give Gurion into her arms.

And for a moment, Jaime feels a cord inside his chest being cut, ripped, taking his air away.

“He is in good hands,” she whispers, offering a small smile Jaime fails to return.

It is for the best. It is for the best. It is for the best.

“So… we should be heading our ways,” he brings out slowly. Brienne nods at him curtly, before turning to the other three, “My deepest gratitude to you all. I, uhm… we owe you… a lot. I, I hope that you’ll all stay safe. I pray for you.”

“Do not fret, m’lady, we’ll make sure of it. And I can say that Pod is really good a fighter for that I obviously never trained him. And Shae is not unfamiliar with handling a dagger either,” Tyrion assures her, patting her on the hand lightly. “Oh, and I can always bit people into their ankles.”

“I have faith in you,” she replies with a bit more confidence this time, making Tyrion blink at her once.

Because she has faith in them indeed.

People who sacrificed and risks again their own happiness in favour of both Sansa and Gurion are the kinds of people Brienne dares to believe in.

Tyrion offers a crooked smile before turning to his brother, “Rest assured that I will do anything within my powers to protect my nephew.”

“And I will look after him as he looks after him,” Shae says with a wink.

“We thank you,” Jaime manages a small smile in return.

Brienne bends down to the child one more time, tearing off her glove to take Gurion’s tiny hand once, her voice no more than a whisper, “I promise to be back. My oath is to keep you, and to keep you safe.”

She straightens back up, putting the glove back on. Jaime swallows thickly as he bends down, too. He kisses the boy on the scalp one last time, “Make sure you look after your uncle. He’s a bloody idiot.”

He means to straighten back up completely, but the child, with its tiny fingers, clasps his stump of a hand, bringing Jaime close to tears, but instead he only utters, “Please, be safe.”

It is for the best. It is for the best. It is for the best.

“I hope to hear from you soon. If you need anything, send a message, as we discussed. I shall do my best to back you up,” Tyrion tells them.

“Thank you, brother, for everything,” Jaime says. “We hope it won’t be long until we see each other again.”

“And hopefully with Lady Sansa in tow,” Brienne adds feebly.

“Good luck,” the other three say in unison.

Brienne and Jaime get on their horses and start down the path leading into the woods. Neither one dares to look back.

Or else they wouldn’t ever leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the liberty to borrow some original lines from the show, and rearranged them a bit. They were just too delicious to leave out. 
> 
> Just like I took the liberty to kind of borrow an idea from my other JB fanfic, concering Jaime's "new hand". I don't know why, but I'm fond of the idea. 
> 
> Just like I hope you excuse some plot convenience I granted myself with the meet-ups, but ugh... it's fiction, right?


	34. The Bloody Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are on the way to the Eyrie. 
> 
> Other things happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thanks for the patience, comments, and kudos. 
> 
> I will warn you, this chapter's a bit longer than most others - because I didn't see a way to make it shorter or cut it down into two chapters. So I went with that. 
> 
> *spoiler* - don't like, don't read (or read later): I granted myself that huge chunk of plot convenience. I know that times should not really match about that meet-up, but I felt like this would be the chance to do that. The show producers took that liberty, too, why not I? 
> 
> I've been struggling with this chapter for a longer while, so I hope it's still kinda alright.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy. ;)

Brienne and Jaime find themselves at the foot of the mountains leading to the Eyrie. They decided to make camp amidst some large boulders. They scarcely talked throughout the ride, and both realized that they pushed their horses much harder to not only get closer to Sansa, but also to ride away from the want to just turn back around to get back to Gurion.

“Well, I suppose the good thing is that we managed quite some distance this day. It won’t be long until we get to our destination,” Jaime says to break the silence. Brienne looks up from the fire she’s had her eyes set on this whole time, her normally blue eye shining a dim kind of jade.

“The question is still how we want to manage once we get there, though. As far as I heard, there are quite a few good fighters in the Vale. And Baelish knows us both by the looks, so to masquerade ourselves is no option to have at least the element of surprise on our side,” Brienne says, her lips only moving slightly apart, almost chewing on the words.

“I reckoned as much that you’d already be debating about tactics,” Jaime chuckles faintly.

“You don’t?” she asks with a frown.

“Of course I do,” he snorts.

“So… what do you think should we do?” she asks hesitantly.

“As you say, disguising is likely no option to get anywhere close to where they hold Sansa. It might buy us a ticket past the Bloody Gate, but that’s about it. Going there officially will equally backfire on us because Baelish holds ties with my clan and the Iron Throne. He will inform Cersei and then they’ll be chasing us for certain, under the premise that he doesn’t follow through with it himself. We are deserters in their eyes after all,” Jaime says.

“I would still rather just kill him,” Brienne admits through pursed lips.

“I couldn’t agree more, but no matter how swift we are now both in wielding a sword with the left, we likely won’t overpower the army there is in the Vale. And if we kill their Lord, we’ll have them chase us, too,” Jaime argues. “Which is not to say that I have dismissed the idea. That man will suffer, but there is a time for everything, and this is seemingly not the time. _Yet_.”

“Right,” Brienne agrees solemnly.

“Before we left, Tyrion and I talked about it if it wouldn’t be for the best to bring him along, as Sansa’s married husband. But it doesn’t seem to be a good idea. That they believe him dead is the best that could happen to him to prevent him from further harm. At this point, I don’t know how far our sister would go to get to us. And she might just as well claim that Tyrion took part in Sansa’s abduction with you, and Baelish would present Sansa as someone he rescued and brought to Lysa for safety reasons… if it isn’t decided that Sansa has to _go_ anyway… I don’t think we will get far with negotiations. That is unless we wait for Baelish to leave at some point and then try our luck convincing Lysa. Though I find that just as unlikely. If they are wedded by now, which I assume, he now holds the Vale, and that means she as his wife wouldn’t give Sansa over to us. Not to mention that I’m a Lannister and she’s Sansa’s kin,” Jaime grimaces, running through the options that come to mind.

“So we have to get her out of there by force,” Brienne concludes with a grimace. “And in secret.”

“We won’t go through the front door and ask for her, that much is for certain,” Jaime makes a face, shrugging his shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position on the bloody, uncomfortable rocks.

“Well, from what I saw on the map,” Brienne says, revealing the parchment Tyrion had given them sitting on her lap, “we might have a chance sneaking around and climb up the outer walls.”

“If you want to get us killed, surely,” Jaime snorts.

“With ropes it should work… We could try to get to the Sky Cells and from there get inside the Eyrie,” Brienne argues. “Though there are prison guards of course…”

“We can think our heads sore about the matter all we want. Even with the map, we only know of the steady posts of guards Tyrion saw when he was imprisoned. We have to see what opportunities arise once we are by the Bloody Gate, and later on the Eyrie. There might arise a chance, but for that we have to reach it first,” Jaime argues. “To see for ourselves.”

“It can’t harm to go over the options,” Brienne replies.

“There are so many options that there might still be one we didn’t even think about. We will have to wait and see,” Jaime tells her.

“We ought to have a plan,” Brienne insists stubbornly.

“We can’t plan everything,” Jaime retorts.

“But we should think about the possibilities,” she tries once more.

“All of which will either come about or not, based on the observations we will make once we get there,” Jaime replies. “So fussing about this won’t help. There are things you just can’t plan in advance.”

Brienne blinks, pursing her lips.

Jaime lets out a sigh.

Here we go again…

“Alright, I will say it now: We have to talk about this, Brienne,” he says.

“This?” she makes a face, her voice quivering slightly.

“Us,” he says.

“No,” is the reply he gets and also anticipated, but still hoped he wouldn’t get.

“We have to talk about us at _some_ point. It’s obvious to me as well that what we just said about plans also meant something concerning us, Brienne, so stop pretending that you don’t know what this is about,” he tells her.

“This is not about us,” she insists stubbornly.

“It bloody well is because there is just us at this point,” he retorts. Brienne stares at him for a moment, so Jaime takes a deep breath to go on in a calmer voice, “What I mean to say is that we are among ourselves now. That means Gurion is no longer an argument as to how my affection is only focused on him – and that this is something we ought to discuss.”

“You mean to say?” Brienne questions hesitantly.

“ _I mean to say_ that I am here with _you_. I am not with Gurion, or am I?” Jaime replies.

Brienne looks to the side.

“We have to figure out what is between us two, like it or not, Brienne. Look, before, I understood that you wouldn’t talk about this, because there was Gurion in your belly, but now he is out in the world and apparently not with us for now,” Jaime goes on.

“Yeah, I _know_ that, thank you,” she mutters angrily.

The pain right in her chest is proof enough for it that he isn’t there.

“You know how I mean it,” he argues.

“We have more urgent things to do,” Brienne replies.

“We won’t ride our horses through the night so we might just as well talk this out and finally resolve this,” Jaime insists.

“It’s not that easy,” Brienne says, biting her lower lip.

“Well, silencing about the matter won’t make it any easier either, Brienne. I know that you are not fond of it, just like I’m not fond of it, but we have to think about how we two… what is between us, what will be between us in the future,” Jaime argues.

“I can’t think about this now,” she tells him.

“I know you don’t want to think about this, but we have to,” he grimaces.

“No, I _can’t_ , that is the thing,” Brienne retorts.

“Brienne,” he sighs, but she interrupts him, “No, we have to focus on Sansa. I can’t think about _this_ until we have her.”

What if it goes down the same river it did back in King’s Landing?

What if they only bear anger for the other once the argument is done?

Then they won’t be effective in their quest, won’t manage, won’t keep their vows.

“We might just as well talk right now and then think of Sansa again,” Jaime huffs.

“You don’t get this,” Brienne argues, averting her gaze.

“Then explain it to me,” he insists.

“I don’t know how,” she replies.

“You will have to try, or else I will keep asking. Brienne, I’m _trying_ to understand, so please, tell me. I can still ask if I don’t understand, but you have to _talk_ to me, or at least try, because I don’t get this here right now. I can’t read all of your silences. You’ll have to give me words,” Jaime argues.

Brienne opens her mouth to say something, but then shuts it again, biting her lower lip. Jaime grimaces, because he can see how she actually _struggles_ for the words this time.

Because that is one of the things about Brienne. While mulishly stubborn most of her time, simply refusing to address certain things or honour them with a reply, there actually are things she cannot say because she doesn’t find the words. And she rarely finds words for the things that are inside her heart.

“I just… I can’t, I’m… unable, it’s… My thoughts are already jumbled and chaotic. I just always think about Gurion and the absolutely irrational want to get back on the horse to get back to him while at the same time I want to push my horse the other direction to finally get to Sansa. I miss Gurion. I miss Sansa, and that even though I don’t know her well, and that even though I don’t have a clue how she’ll think of us now. But then I think of Gurion again, and then about how we are supposed to manage all these things. I think about how people might come after Tyrion, Shae, and Pod. I think about how they might get hurt without us knowing it. Or that they find them and take Gurion and…,” she stops, letting out a shaky breath, looking up into the dark sky above their heads. “I am… there are too many things pulling me in different directions.”

Tearing her apart.

Jaime grimaces – because yes, he knows that feeling. He knows it not only because he feels the same in regards to Gurion, but also because he knows what it’s like to feel conflicted, swayed in one’s priorities.

It tears you to the sides so long until it tears you down.

“I am not used to balancing so many vows. As you say, it’s hard enough to keep one, but there is the vow to Gurion, there is the vow to Lady Catelyn, the vow to Renly and what I promised Sansa when on the ship and… this all goes through my mind and clouds my judgment. I need a clear head in this situation. This is not just about entering a battle. We have to be very careful, or else it will cost us Sansa, and maybe even our lives. If we… if we start to fight and do not resolve at once… it will pose a danger to you and me alike. And that is the other thing. I now have to worry that _I_ return, too – because of Gurion. Before, it didn’t matter that much. I didn’t have to focus on my own safety in that way when I served Renly. Just like I have to think about _your_ safety in that way ever the more. Because Gurion ought to have both his father and his mother. This all goes through my head at the same time,” Brienne rambles.

“But _this_ is bothering you likewise, that’s obvious,” Jaime argues in a softer voice this time.

“But _that’s_ … bearable, I don’t know why, but… that’s just how it is. I can push that away for the moment. I… we did so before. Can’t we do that a while longer until we have Sansa? Until it’s safe for us to… until it’s safe…,” Brienne asks, now almost begging, something that Jaime does Brienne never does without reason.

“We can’t run away this forever, Brienne. I know that I made a number of mistakes in this, to say the least, and…,” he means to say, but she interrupts him, “No, please, stop.”

“Brienne,” he exhales.

“ _Please_. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I don’t say that to hurt you or because I fail to see that we… _have_ to talk about this. I understand that. But at this point I just _can’t_. I have to focus on Sansa and our survival. We focused on us this whole time, for Gurion’s sake. I promised Lady Catelyn. I promised Sansa. I have to get her out of there. But I also promised Gurion, so we have to make sure we get out of this alive, too. And that means I cannot risk to have more dangers in our back, which might come out of an argument. I’ve seen that with some of Renly’s men. You fight differently, you think differently when in anger. That is a lot to balance, and my mind is not balanced at all. And that I miss Gurion so much doesn’t help either. So please, try to understand. I need that bit of focus to guarantee her and our safety. There is so much at stake now,” Brienne goes on in a shaky voice.

So much to lose.

Jaime looks at her with a grimace.

“I… I promise you, once we’ve been to the Eyrie to get Sansa, we will… talk about all this, but for now… I have to gain that bit of focus for Sansa’s and Gurion’s sake, for our sake. I can’t… deal… with these feelings and thoughts at this point. They make me lose focus even more. And I need focus. I _need_ it. That is the one thing I’m usually good at in a fight. I keep calm. So that we all get out of this alive, but for that I need my focus. I need my focus. I need that bit of balance. That bit of focus,” Brienne tells him. “So please.”

“You mean that,” he says.

“Absolutely. You have my word for it,” Brienne nods.

“But I’d have your promise,” he insists.

“You have my promise, yes,” she nods frantically, before adding hesitantly. “So… for now…”

“ _For now_ , Sansa and our safety takes precedence,” Jaime agrees.

He has to take what he gets, after all. And with a promise, he actually has leverage at last.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t owe me thanks for that, woman,” he snorts.

“I do. So thanks… for… understanding,” Brienne insists.

“It’s alright,” Jaime offers a crooked smile. “So… take me through your plan again.”

“But you just said…,” she grimaces, but he interrupts her, “I changed my mind. Go ahead, tell me the plan. It can never harm to think of some options in advance, so that we can set our observations effectively to work out the last steps. Maybe that will draw our attention to the right crevices in the Vale to slip through.”

Brienne edges slightly closer to him wordlessly, to hold the parchment out for him to see as well, to the point that Jaime can feel the warmth radiating from her body, “… I was thinking about this spot, because there are less guards there, so maybe if we took this as a starting point, we might get past this whole sector without being caught…”

Let’s make a plan.

For a future.

* * *

 

“Ugh, alright, I need to go someplace,” Jaime declares. “Nature calls.”

They are short to their destination now, close to the Bloody Gate at last, though the walk up to the Vale proves to be strenuous, since the riding the horses proves to be different in the terrain, which means that they have to travel a lot more by foot.

Brienne takes the reins from Jaime, choosing not to comment on this, and says instead, “I will see what’s up the mound.”

“Alright,” he agrees before walking off to find himself some place to answer nature’s call.

Brienne glances around, trotting ahead, the two horses following her at a slow pace. Her thoughts circulate around some many things these days, though she tries her best to set them on the target that should be maybe a day’s march, maybe a two days’ march away. She just has to get to Sansa. They have to get her out of there. She promised, not just Lady Catelyn, but also Sansa, Lord Tyrion – but Jaime, too.

Sansa is the one answer to the many questions on her mind.

The one answer that matters these days.

Brienne lets out a sigh as she pulls on the reins, manoeuvring further up the mound, when suddenly…

Noises.

Breathing.

Metal cutting through the air.

Brienne speeds up a bit to see a young girl with brown, short hair training… with a _sword_. The blonde woman is stunned for a moment. The girl turns abruptly, moving with the swiftness of water itself, staring at Brienne with wide eyes.

“People coming,” she whispers. “You can shit later. There’s people coming.”

Brienne sees her distress pooling in her pale eyes, so she steps closer a few steps, flashing the nicest smile she can, “Morning.”

“Morning,” the girl replies automatically, her features otherwise unmoving.

While Brienne grew more comfortable with her role as Gurion’s mother, she still knows little how to interact with young adults, especially young girls. She’s never had significant interactions with girls her age when she was one herself. While Brienne was surprised that Lady Sansa even bothered to make conversation with her, and seemingly enjoyed her company for all that Brienne can judge, she still didn’t feel quite comfortable with it, and still doesn’t.

“I like your sword,” Brienne tells the brunette, hoping that this will make her feel less frightened. “Are we getting close to the Bloody Gate?”

“About ten more miles,” the girl replies. “Are you a knight?”

“No,” Brienne tells her.

No, she isn’t, she definitely isn’t… though Brienne finds it charming that the girl finds it possible that a woman would be.

“But you know how to use that sword?” the brunette questions, with a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“I do,” Brienne nods with a smile, glad that she seems to calm down a bit – and that they have something to talk about that Brienne feels comfortable with. She can talk about these matters because she knows a lot about them.

“Does it have a name?” the girl questions, to which Brienne replies with more pride than she believes possible at some point, “Oathkeeper.”

“Mine’s Needle,” the young woman says.

“Good name,” Brienne tells her.

“Who taught you how to fight?” the girl asks.

“My father,” Brienne says. The girl touches the hilt of her sword with a rather sad grimace, “Mine never wanted to. Said fighting was for boys.”

“Mine said the same. But I kept fighting the boys anyway. Kept losing. Finally my father said, ‘If you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right’,” Brienne speaks, thinking back to the many times she picked fights when still a child, battling whoever called her names, and ended up with more than one bloody nose, and a pain far worse – the pain of losing, of smacking one’s head against the wall of one’s own boundaries and failing to climb it, crashing to the ground with nothing but humiliation and shame.

But the moment Brienne held a sword in hand, she felt a chance of finally getting leverage to climb the wall, no matter how often she failed the climb right after getting the sword in the first place. Because Brienne had to train _a lot_ and _very_ hard to get to the point that she ended up winning. Sword fight is about discipline, training, and never yielding.

Though Brienne, now that she is a mother, starts to understand why her father was so hesitant to let her fight at first. He surely also did it to protect her for the most part, but realizing that he couldn’t keep her from it, did his best to shield her anyway, and that was to give her the means to shield herself.

Brienne is pulled out of her musing when a man with a scarred face rounds the corner, seemingly having finished business, and comes to stand next to the young girl, tall, strong, intimidating.

“Seven blessings. I’m Brienne of Tarth…,” she begins, but he cuts her off harshly, “You want something?”

Brienne frowns. She knows that people are cautious these days, for _good_ reason, but what would she want with the girl? She just meant to have a talk with her for a moment, maybe get some information about the Bloody Gate, no more.

“Woman, how far do you manage to go within three minutes?! If you want me to get lost you should…,” Jaime calls out loud, stomping the rest of the way up to her, eyes fixed on the rocky ground not to trip, but then stops to glance up.

“You.”

Jaime frowns, but then recognizes the girl at once – and the man next to her, “Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane, the Hound.”

The Gods be good, how in the Seven Hells does _this_ happen now?!

“ _What_?” Brienne gapes, looking back and forth between Jaime and the girl, whose hands fix around the sword, no, Needle.

Arya Stark.

And she is now face-to-face with one of the family members of the clan who took her family from her. _Gods, no_.

Brienne sucks in a small breath before finding her voice to speak up, “I… we were on the way to the Eyrie in search for Lady Sansa…”

“People said the little bird’s dead, thanks to _you_ , bitch,” Sandor argues.

“What?! No, no! I didn’t! She was taken by Lord Baelish. We wanted to bring her to safety!” Brienne insists nervously.

No, no, no. Those rumours will haunt her to her death, or so it seems. But all that wouldn’t matter to Brienne if it weren’t so crucial to get Arya’s trust instead of mistrust. Gods be good, why do they test them so much?

“To safety my arse!” the Hound snorts.

“It’s the truth I’m telling you, Ser! We wanted to get her away from King’s Landing, that’s why we had her on the ship to my home, to Tarth,” Brienne tries to reason with the man, though her eyes fall back on Arya, who seemingly lets the words just wash over her.

“What would you want with my sister anyway?” Arya demands.

“I swore to your Lady Mother that I would bring you and Lady Sansa home to her, I…,” Brienne means to say, but Arya cuts her off harshly, “My mother’s dead.”

“I know. I wish I could have been there to protect her,” Brienne exhales, the thought still a hot poker in her side, burning down to the very core of her being.

“Why didn’t you?” the brunette hisses.

“She commanded me to bring him to King’s Landing in exchange for your safe return to her,” Brienne explains.

She has to make her listen.

She has to make her stay.

_Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, whoever of the Seven hears me, for once, let me find the words!_

“ _Him_. He’s a _Lannister_! He’s helped capture my father for crimes he did not commit! And he’s lost his head for it!” Arya cries out.

“Arya, please, let me explain,” Brienne begs, but the girl just whispers, taking a step back, shaking her head, “The Bloody Gate is ten miles…”

“She’s the Lannister’s bitch, a Lannister bitch. The fancy sword you’ve got there’s Lannister gold – and you travel with him. Wedding gift from the Kingslayer, huh?” Sandor barks.

“I swore to your mother by the old gods…,” Brienne insists, focusing her attention on Arya instead.

“I don’t care what you swore! You’re with _him_!” the girl retorts, nodding at Jaime.

“I can turn around and leave if that makes you feel better, but listen to _her_ ,” he tells her. “She means you no harm. She wants to know you safe.”

He rather stayed out of the conversation thus far, knowing that the little princess of Winterfell surely doesn’t believe a word he says.

For good reason.

But now it seems that he has to speak up after all.

“She’s his bitch! Sold her cunt for a fancy golden sword, and we all know what his family did to the Starks,” the Hound insists. “She’s his dumb bitch, I tell you!”

“Watch your mouth!” Jaime snarls angrily.

“Shut up,” Brienne hisses in a low voice. Now is not the time for that.

“You heard the girl. She’s not coming with you,” Clegane says.

“Please, Arya, hear me out. We can take you to safety…,” Brienne means to tells her, but Sandor cuts her off, “Safety!? Where the fuck’s that? Her aunt in the Eyrie’s dead. Her mother’s dead. Her father’s dead. And for all _we_ know, the little bird’s dead, too. Winterfell is a pile of rubble. There’s no safety, you dumb bitch! If you don’t know that by now, you’re the wrong one to watch over her.”

“And that’s what you’re doing? Watching over her?” Brienne grimaces. She only heard about the Hound in some anecdotes and stories, and while strong and brave, she can’t remember stories which depicted him as warm-hearted or overly protective and caring.

“Aye, that’s what I’m doing,” he growls, his hand travelling to his sword. Brienne copies his movement out of reflex, and so does Jaime.

“We don’t want to fight you,” Brienne says again. Because she really doesn’t.

“I don’t care for what you want. And if you think that you’re at an advantage with you two against me, you’re mistaken. A bitch and a Kingslayer? I’d take on you within mere seconds even with just a dagger, or with bare hands,” Sandor Clegane snarls.

“Listen to reason,” Jaime argues. “We have no intention to fight you. We obviously weren’t after you, or else you’d see an army behind us, which there isn’t. We were here in search for Sansa, because Littlefinger’s taken her to there, and for all _we_ know, she’s very much alive.

“All we want to do is talk,” Brienne adds.

“Words mean nothing,” the other man snorts. “Especially not those of a Lannister, a Kingslayer. All smoke and ashes.”

“Aw, that almost hurt my feelings,” Jaime huffs. “A Lannister always pays his debts.”

“We don’t want to fight, Ser, so listen…,” Brienne tries once more, but that is when the Hound draws his sword and simply charges. Brienne is the one to react first to dodge the blow, standing closer to the Hound than Jaime.

“Ser, please,” she growls, but Sandor just charges her again. From the corner of her eye, she can see Arya moving away.

“Jaime! Go get her!”

Jaime bites down whatever comment on the tip of his tongue, and rushes after the Stark girl as she tries to escape this situation. He makes a mental note that he really has to position himself in front of Brienne at all times if he ever wants to make sure the wench doesn’t get herself nearly killed every damn time. He is no longer the almost bad with his left, by the Gods.

And now _he’s_ supposed to make the girl stay? Great, just great. He’d have better chances catching a direwolf with bare hands and make the thing go fetch than convince _Arya Stark_ of all people to come with _him_ of all people, peacefully so.

“C’mon now, girl! We mean you no harm!” he curses as he hurries after Arya, who moves truly with the swiftness of a cat.

This must be some kind of joke.

“Stop running, by the Gods! I’m getting too old for this!”

But that is when she disappears behind a stone formation, the little minx. Jaime hops down the slope with fast strides, hurrying after her. He rounds the boulder’s edge, only to catch sight of her swinging a sword at him.

He winds back only in time to prevent a blow to his side, though she still manages to connect and nick through fabric and skin.

Good sword surely.

“I guess I deserved that one,” he grunts, but then looks at the girl as she backs off a little, seemingly preparing for the next strike. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“But you will have to if you want to get me,” she hisses like a cat, the shadows of the stone formation dancing on her pale skin, colouring her darker than a girl her age should be.

“And you’re sure you’re not related to Brienne by any chance?” he huffs.

“Just leave us alone, the both of you!” Arya shrieks, charging again.

Always stabbing, not slicing with the pointy end first, Jaime thinks to himself. Her fighting style tells Jaime two things: One, Arya is pretty talented, and two, if she means to strike, she means to not just scratch, but kill.

Jaime draws his sword as well – though he obviously has no intention to slay the girl, but parrying should be allowed, by the Seven. Though Brienne will give him the Seven Hells and back for this anyways. Arya comes charging, aiming at his chest, but Jaime is quick enough to parry and send her blow to the ground, making Arya stumble for a second.

“Don’t make the mistake to believe what the Hound’s said. I know how to fight. You won’t beat me, girl, so could we please work out a truce for now?”

But Arya just charges again, and Jaime can see in her eyes that with every stab she means to stab his clan, for killing her family, stealing it from her, stealing her security, her home, her life. Jaime parries anyway and pushes her back, “Look, I know that I am the last person in all of Westeros you want to see, but I mean you no harm.”

“Good thing to say with a sword in hand,” she retorts.

“To be fair, you came charging first. I’m merely parrying, girl. Trust me in this, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now,” Jaime warns her, biting the inside of his cheek.

Making death threats is surely no good choice at this moment, but so be it…

“What am I supposed to tell you, girl? Yes, I am Jaime Lannister, but no, I’m not here to take you to King’s Landing,” he curses.

He doesn’t have time for this with Brienne up against the Hound.

“Then what?” Arya demands.

“I mean to bring you and your sister to safety,” Jaime says. “Believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe you,” she retorts.

“That had to come,” he sighs, but then catches himself. “Then believe Brienne.”

“I don’t know her! For all I know, she’s the one who took my sister! And she’s your bitch!” Arya cries out defensively.

“Brienne is _not_ my bitch. She wants the Queen dead about as much as you probably do. She’s a deserter, we both are. There’s a bounty on both our heads, you should’ve heard of that,” Jaime tries to reason with the girl, but Arya strikes again, and with every stab snarls a word each, “I. Don’t. Believe. You.”

Jaime parries, but it’s really difficult, he has to give her that much. He’s rarely seen a fighting style quite like this.

But enough is enough.

Jaime has to get back to Brienne, or else the Hound might get the better of her after all.

Once Arya charges again, Jaime holds out his metal hand instead of parrying with the sword. Her sword connects with the metal hand, giving Jaime the leverage it takes push it down, and then use the sword to send it flying out of her grasp.

“No!” Arya cries out, still stunned, seemingly only now becoming conscious of the fact that he has a metal hand he can use to that effect. Though, to be fair, it was more luck than anything else. An inch to the side and she would have connected her sword with his heart.

Jaime sheaths his sword quickly as he kicks her sword away and out of her reach, “So now, back to the truce negotiations…”

But the girl simply takes off for the next run. Jaime almost catches her, but the little witch manages to escape his grasp by an inch, no more.

“Damn,” he barks. Jaime quickly grabs her sword, better not taking any chances, before rushing after her… _yet again_.

“I’m _really_ getting too old for this,” he pants, gritting his teeth as his nicked side protests at the movements back up the slope. It’s better to be above her. Then he has best chances of seeing her – and getting to her. He climbs up, eyes trained on spotting the girl.

He really wished she was as tall as Brienne now. That’d make finding her a lot easier.

But that is when Jaime can spot her movement between two large boulders. Thank the stones for making sounds under every of her steps. He licks his lips before deciding to simply jump down, his feet screaming once he lands on hard rock, but finally within the distance it takes for him to grab her by the shoulder and pull her back, “Enough of that game already!”

The girl means to grab her sword from his belt, but Jaime deftly holds on to her hand, “No, you will not, girl.”

“Let me go!” Arya cries out, thrashing, kicking, struggling with every ounce of her body.

“You have to listen to me for only just a few moments!” he growls.

“I will not!” Arya barks, gritting her teeth.

A little wolf indeed.

“You really are like Brienne, _Gods_ ,” Jaime grunts as he holds on to her. The girl kick back, thrashing in his arms, solidly connecting with his crotch, but Jaime knows better than to let go of her at this moment. And in fact, Brienne hits _way_ harder. If he loses Arya now, Brienne will kill him.

“Let me go! Let me go!” the girl keeps crying out.

“Don’t make me knock you out, because I will,” Jaime threatens her, too focused on getting back to Brienne to care if he scares the girl now or not.

“Do it,” she taunts him.

“Don’t tempt me,” Jaime snorts. She tries to get her sword again, but Jaime cuts off her movement with his metal hand, however clumsily. Two hands that can actually grasp would truly be favourable now.

“I don’t have the time for that! Stop it already!” he barks.

“Never!” Arya cries out.

“Can we leave that until later? Those two will rip each other pieces while we are busy chatting,” Jaime argues. “And she definitely doesn’t deserve that.”

“What do I care if she dies or not?” Arya growls.

“That’s the one woman in all of Westeros who’d be willing to give her life up for you. She does right at this very second to know you safe, _that’s_ why you should care,” Jaime replies, but then decides that reasoning is not reasonable now, so he simply rounds his arm about her hip and lifts her off the ground with his left, dragging her with him, no matter the thrashing and kicking.

“Stop that or I will knock you unconscious, girl, I told you,” Jaime warns her again. To defy him, she obviously kicks ever the harder, trying to grab her sword repeatedly. Gladly, it’s on the other side of his body, so she can only grasp thin air at this point.

At last he can spot Brienne and Sandor still fighting. And from the looks of it, both already got their fair share of blows. Clegane can count himself lucky that Jaime has no intention to kill him at this point, thought his might change any minute now.

“Damn,” he mutters.

Jaime has to step in now. Peace negotiations are troublesome, especially if all are supposed to walk out of this unharmed. War is so much easier at times.

“Stay,” he barks at Arya, letting go of the girl for a moment to grab into his pouch to attach the small crossbow to the metal construction now his _useful_ hand. He tried it out a few times by now, but he is nowhere close to having a perfect or even good aim. Jaime fires one of the small arrows anyway. The first misses by about two feet. Jaime growls, quickly reloading to aim again. He fires – and…

“Argh!” Sandor cries out as one of the arrows connects with his lower leg, stunned. Brienne uses the momentum to throw herself at the Hound and tears him to the ground along with her. Jaime quickly turns around to see Arya trying to sneak away again, but he is quick enough to grab her, “I told you to stay, girl.”

“Yield!” Brienne growls at the Hound, knocking against his arm to force him to lose grip on his sword, with little success. He surely has his reputation for a reason.

“Get off of me, bitch!” he growls low in his throat.

“Yield,” she repeats.

“Fuck you!” he barks.

“Yield!” Brienne yells.

“Tell him to stop!” Jaime demands from Arya.

“I don’t care for what he does to her,” the girl retorts.

“Brienne would have died for Sansa, the Seven Hells, she almost did back on the ship. And she might do again,” Jaime argues vehemently.

“I don’t care!” she shrieks.

This is ridiculous! So very ridiculous – and dangerous, since the two are not far away from a cliff. Couldn’t they stumble into Arya Stark at the foot of the bloody mountain?!

If he lets Arya go, she’ll flee again. If he lets her go, Brienne will kill him. He can’t tie her up. If he knocked her out right now, it might enrage the Hound further – and Brienne likewise. The Seven Hells, what is this supposed to be?!

Clegane seemingly manages to get some leverage to kick Brienne, sending her scrambling back with a howl of pain.

“Brienne!” Jaime cries out, pulling Arya along closer to the two. Brienne is to her feet fast enough to parry the blow Clegane delivers above her head. At some point she doesn’t know how she manages to push him back from her position, but she does, fuelled by anger and fear and dread.

She cannot be cautious now.

This is about life and death.

This is about everything and nothing at once.

Brienne manages to push him back with such force that even the Hound seems stunned for a second – and the Maid of Tarth uses the moment to charge, bringing the sword down on him again and again.

She has to make him yield.

She has to make him yield.

Why doesn’t he just yield?!

From the corner of her eye she can see the ledge, just like she can see that Clegane takes way too much of a swing to knock her to the side, thanks to his weakened leg from Jaime’s arrow.

“Don’t! You’ll fall over!” she manages to cry out, but the tall man charges blindly. Brienne finds herself knocked to the side while Clegane stumbles and the stones give way beneath his feet.

Brienne barely manages to ram her heels into the ground to keep herself from falling to the other side, twists her body around to slide back to the edge, and extends her hands in the hope to catch the man. With much luck, she is able to grasp a bit of cloth, but can feel the pull of her own body, forcing her further over the rim along with the knight.

“Seven Hells shall be damned!” Jaime cries out, seeing Brienne sliding further over the edge. He doesn’t even think as he lets go of Arya and rushes to Brienne’s side, holding on to the blond woman’s leg and waist to keep her from falling down along with the Hound.

“Help _him_! I’ll lose grip!” Brienne shrieks, feeling the cloth sliding through her gloved fingers. Jaime grunts angrily, sliding more towards the edge likewise to use his left hand to get his grip on Clegane.

Only the Seven will know why he even bothers with this man.

“Pull!” she growls, eyes screwed shut as she gathers her last bit of strength to lift up her upper body, her back and arm straining to the point that she fears she’ll split in two, to bring Clegane back up the ledge. The Hound finally manages hold on as well. Jaime pulls him up by the belt, his arm straining, “You’re one heavy dog breed.”

At last Jaime and Brienne, with combined forces, manage to heave Clegane over the ledge. The scarred man gasps for air, wheezing. Brienne allows her body to fall back, breathing hard likewise, her muscles throbbing numbly, but her mind clicks back into place mere momently later, her eyes almost exploding into blue pools, opening unnaturally wide, “Arya!”

Jaime let her go.

He let her go when he came to her and the Hound’s rescue!

No. No. No.

Brienne whirls around on the ground until she can look behind them.

Did they lose her?

Did she fail again?

“Arya.”

The girl still stands there, perplex.

But she still stands there.

She is still there.

Jaime sends a silent prayer to the Seven that they didn’t make her run off, or else Brienne would have beheaded him using Oathkeeper for sure. If she didn’t just rip it off with bare hands.

“Why did you pull me back up?” Clegane demands, his voice coming out strained as he fights for air to fill his lungs. “Why did you help me?!”

“I told you. We don’t want to fight you,” Brienne breathes heavily, grimacing as pain from the fight starts to spread throughout her body, now that the energy of fight starts to leave her, drains out of her.

“It’s as she says. And believe me that much, if we had any intention to see you gone, I would have kicked you off the cliff instead of helping you back up, Mongrel,” Jaime grunts.

“Maybe next time, Kingslayer,” the other man laughs weakly.

“So. Can we talk now, for at least a few moments?” Jaime asks. “I think we deserve that much credit for hauling your sorry arse back up.”

Brienne ignores the two men and scrambles to her feet shakily, almost toppling over a few times. Arya keeps her stance, her eyes following the other woman every step of the way. Brienne comes to stand a few feet away from her, not wanting to frighten her any further.

“Please, Lady Arya, we just want to talk. We don’t want to hurt you. We don’t want to imprison you. We just… I just… we need to talk,” Brienne breathes out raggedly.

“You didn’t have to save him,” Arya mutters.

“In fact I did,” Brienne argues. “Knight or not, I… I want to protect people. And if he meant it in all earnest that he wants to protect you, then yes, I had to help him. Because that means he is on our side, for as long as he stands on yours. So please, can we… just talk? Just hear us out, _please_.”

“… I will listen to you,” Arya says after a longer pause, before narrowing her eyes at Jaime. “But I demand Needle back.”

“I wouldn’t want it anyways. Too meagre and too light to my liking, those blades from Braavos, or well, done in that fashion, because it feels like steel from around your home,” Jaime snorts. “You can have it back any time if that gives you security.”

“But that doesn’t mean I trust you in any way,” Arya warns them.

“That’s alright,” Brienne nods frantically.

“What a lovely get-together,” Jaime huffs. “How about we settle down for a moment?”

Against the odds of the situation, the four soon find themselves sitting in a circle, the Hound and Arya on one side, Jaime and Brienne on the other. Arya keeps a well-measured distance to either one, eyeing them the whole time, looking truly like a young wolf, watching, observing, eyes darting through the darkness she seems to cloak herself in.

“… Well, explain it then. How am I supposed to trust a Lannister and a woman who’s rumoured to have murdered my sister?” Arya questions defensively.

“I didn’t murder her. She’s alive. Sansa’s alive,” Brienne insists, her hands fidgeting around – because only the Seven will know how nervous she is. Brienne is no good with words. Now she is supposed to not just explain the situation, but also make someone believe it.

Arya Stark of all people.

Sometimes Brienne really wished she was swifter not only with words, but also with convincing people, maybe even lying, if only to make Arya believe them.

If only to keep her safe.

Jaime nudges Brienne against the arm, since he took it upon himself to clean out the smaller wounds she got to the face – after she tended to the rather shallow wound he got to the side wordlessly, “Hold still or I will end up poking you in the eye, woman.”

She just glares at him, which only makes him glare back at her.

“How are you certain about that?” Arya asks, and Jaime replies, “Because Baelish was the one who abducted her. He was the one who helped kill Joffrey.”

“Ever the more a reason to like him,” Arya huffs. “If he’s got rid of Joffrey.”

Jaime lets out a sigh, ignoring this for now, for she has any reason to hate Joffrey, by the Seven. He dabs the cloth against Brienne’s brow to wipe the blood off as he goes on, “They needed someone to put the blame on for Sansa’s disappearance. Brienne was the number one candidate for Baelish, after he had previously tried to get Sansa away from King’s Landing on his own – something we intercepted by bringing her away ourselves, or well, intending to.”

“He kidnapped her from the ship I was on with her, to Tarth… we wanted to bring her to safety,” Brienne adds.

“What tells us that you didn’t just plan to use the little bird for your own purposes?” Clegane questions.

“Common sense?” Jaime huffs. “We feared for Sansa’s life because Joffrey wouldn’t have had any use for her after his wedding to Margaery, and Sansa’s wedding to my brother.”

“The Imp?” the two frown at him.

“You heard about the abduction but not the marriage?” Jaime frowns, to which Arya and the Hound just shrug, before Arya goes on, “We’ve heard it from some merchants when we passed the Trident.”

“Words carry faster over the water than the land, and a tale of a woman burning down a ship with both the Imp and the little bird on it was perhaps the greater news,” Clegane shrugs, shifting in his seat – surely sore all over from Brienne’s blows, much to Jaime’s amusement.

“It was not a matter of choice, really. In any case, we feared Joffrey might kill her, if not _worse_. So we thought that moving her to Tarth was the best we could do. Brienne’s father would have granted her and my brother amnesty. We hoped to either let Sansa stay there for a while, or move her back to Winterfell. But before we got the chance to do that, Baelish took her and brought her to the Vale. He probably brought her there under a wrong name to sell the trick, at least that it what I would do in his situation.”

“Bad people think alike, hm?” Arya huffs. “What would he want with my sister, though?”

“The people believe you dead. For all they know, there was just Sansa and – what’s his name again? – Ned Stark’s bastard son of Snow who are still alive. And that means that Sansa, to anyone wanting to seize power, is _the_ way to hold the North. That’s what my Father tried to achieve by marrying her to my brother. But with taking him out as competition by getting rid of him… she’s free to such things as marriage again. So what would Baelish want with her? Probably make a profitable match for her to seize power in the North,” Jaime replies.

“Do you have any valid proof for this?” Arya asks, biting her lower lip.

“Not really, or else we wouldn’t live the lives of outlaws,” Jaime huffs.

“Why are you, even?” Sandor questions.

“Like you, most people thought Brienne responsible for what happened to Sansa and that it was part of a plot she’s undertaken, and for that they wanted to charge her. Some nonsense about her collaborating with Roose Bolton or even Stannis Baratheon,” Jaime snorts.

“And how do I know that she doesn’t?” Arya demands. Brienne’s mouth falls open, but Jaime is quicker to answer in her defence, “She’d rather kill Stannis Baratheon with a butter knife than work for him. He’s killed Renly, her Lord. And Roose Bolton definitely fell in the ranking for matters such as allowing her to be thrown into a bloody pit with a bloody bear in bloody Harrenhal, oh, and helping kill your kin during the wedding no less.”

“Bear pit?” Arya stares at the taller woman disbelievingly, to which she only shrugs her broad shoulders.

“Wow,” Arya mutters to herself.

“So you see, someone who sends you into a bear pit, or allows for you to be sent into a bear pit is no one you necessarily wish to work for,” Jaime snorts, blinking twice as images of a torn, pink gown, or rather its shreds, and soiled Myrish lace flood back into his mind.

To the day, he can hear the bear’s roar in his ears.

And judging by Brienne’s body involuntarily tensing up a little, he is most certain that the images and memories didn’t leave her either.

No wonder.

“Might still be made up,” Clegane snorts.

“The bear was real enough, rest assured, and still fairer to look at than you,” Jaime grunts. “She can still show you the scars for it.”

“But then I don’t understand… what took you so long to get to the Vale. If you are _that_ steadfast to get my sister free, then what took you so long to chase after her?” Arya asks.

Jaime has to give her that much, she’s no fool and asks the right questions.

“Well, first of all I had to get Brienne out of where they held her. That’s not as easy as you may believe, girl,” Jaime replies. “And takes a good amount of planning – and finding allies to support you, allies that are scarcely scattered around places like King’s Landing.”

“Fine, given, but after that?” Arya asks.

“Well, there were some further _complications_ , let’s say,” Jaime grimaces, his voice trailing off.

“Such as?” Arya questions with a frown.

“… I was with child by the time,” Brienne says.

“ _With child_?” the Hound and Arya say in almost unison.

“Yes,” Brienne replies sheepishly.

“So you see, we couldn’t really travel as fast as we wanted to,” Jaime adds.

“Does that mean you… have the child now?” Arya asks. “Or…”

“Yes,” Brienne nods, licking her lips.

“And where is the baby?” the Stark daughter questions. “If you have it, why isn’t it with you?”

“He’s with friends of ours. We didn’t want to endanger him more than absolutely necessary,” Jaime replies. “And going to the Eyrie with pretty much nothing is dangerous indeed.”

“Friends?” Clegane grimaces.

“My brother,” Jaime nods.

“I thought the Imp’s dead,” Sandor frowns.

“Very much alive and annoying as ever. Which is ever the more a proof for it that Brienne didn’t kill him,” Jaime huffs. “He’s managed to escape at the last second.”

“And who’s the child’s father?” the Hound asks. Brienne grimaces at Jaime, to which Sandor only lets out a throaty laugh, “You really don’t seem to take your vows very seriously, Kingslayer. Just how many bastards did you father?”

“Gurion is no bastard, so watch your mouth, or else I might reconsider and toss you down the hill after all,” Jaime hisses instantly. Sandor tilts his head, seemingly irritated by the fact that Jaime verbally guards this child so very much already.

But this is actually more important to Jaime than most people would ever know.

This child is no bastard.

It’s Brienne’s and his.

And even if he made a vow to the Kingsguard, that still doesn’t make Gurion a bastard.

“So you mean to say that you are still out for finding Sansa, when you have a child?” Arya questions, seemingly not buying it.

“I promised your mother, we both did,” Brienne replies.

“Right, and we hoped to break her out of the Eyrie, until we ran into you two. It’s mere chance that we met,” Jaime agrees.

“I still don’t see why I would trust you. This story might just as well be made up,” Arya shakes her head.

“And I told you that you’re not supposed to trust me. You are supposed to trust _her_. We are on the way to get your sister,” Jaime tells her. “That is the truth, no matter who speaks it.”

“I don’t have reason to trust her either,” Arya shakes her head.

“But…,” Jaime means to say, but that is when Brienne speaks up, “She’s right,”

“Brienne,” Jaime grimaces at her sadly, though she just shakes her head as she goes on, “No, she’s right. She has no reason to trust either one of us. There is nothing we can say or do to prove our words. You _truly_ have no reason to believe us, even if you believed our words… I… I know I failed your mother. I know I failed Lady Sansa. I failed you the same way. So no, you have any reason not to believe us, and even more reason not to trust us.”

She bows her head, feeling the hot pokers stabbing in her sides.

“Way to negotiate, wench,” Jaime mutters.

“I can’t lie,” she insists.

“Yeah, I know that,” he rolls his eyes.

“What’s that?” Arya suddenly questions. Brienne looks at her palm. She didn’t even realize that she started clutching the piece of cloth after she took it out of the pouch when she took out the material to patch each other up.

“That’s, uhm, your sister’s made it for us, for our child. A baby sling. I… I took it because… well…,” she mumbles, suddenly caught up in embarrassment and uncertainty, and the fleeting yet intense feeling of being reminded of Gurion and how much she misses him.

“Sansa made that for you?” Arya blinks at her. Brienne nods wordlessly. At some point Jaime has to try hard not to laugh at the fact that Brienne can morph into a mute child during situations such as these, but for that, the current situation is too grave.

“Can I see that?” the Stark daughter asks. Brienne holds out the piece of cloth to her. Arya snaps it with fast movements before retreating back to her seat, inspecting the needlework, running her thumbs over the embroidered cloth, “… She’s embroidered that lion.”

“Yes,” Brienne replies.

“Why would she embroider a lion? Did you force her?” Arya narrows her eyes at Jaime, who only rolls his eyes in turn, “Why would I? Why would _anyone_? Child, you may not trust us, but think about it. What sense would there be to force Sansa to do such a thing?”

Arya looks at the cloth again, “Sansa always had the better stitches. Hers are fine… perfect. Mine were all crooked.”

“She said that, too,” Brienne says hesitantly, making the young girl look at her. Brienne gains some confidence from this, so she just goes on, “Just like she said that she regretted it that she never taught you how to do it properly instead of making fun of you every once in a while.”

“She said that? To _you_?” Arya stares at her. “Hard to believe she said such a thing in the first place.”

Arya looks at the fabric again, twisting it between her slender fingers.

“She did, when we were on the ship to Tarth. I… we just had conversation. I don’t know. I’m… we’ve talked about our homes and… family… well…,” Brienne says, her voice trailing off.

“What else did she say?” Arya asks.

“She was very regretful for it that when you’ve last seen her, you likely believed that she hated you, for… for what happened between you two… also because of… Lady,” Brienne tells her, which only makes the girl stare at her once more, “She told you about Lady?”

Brienne nods.

“She’s betrayed me back then,” Arya mutters, twisting the cloth in her palm a little tighter. “Chose Joffrey over her own sister. And then I was at fault for it…”

“And she regretted that. She told me that she wished she’d have been mature enough to apologize to you before it was all too late, or make the right choice in the first place, or forgive you whatever there was to forgive in turn. She was very sad about it that this was the last impression you got of her,” Brienne goes on. “After all, she believed you dead, too.”

“Hard to believe,” Arya shakes her head. “We’ve always fought, or well, I did, and she got mad at me for it, and then made fun of me.”

“Sometimes you only see the truth once you see it in perspective, especially in the light of true horror,” Jaime says solemnly.

And _he_ should know the very best.

The fear of almost losing Brienne and Gurion back in King’s Landing surely taught him more than one lesson.

“I just… I don’t know… this seems… so outrageous,” Arya looks at them, visibly struggling.

“It is. The whole world is, but it’s the truth we speak,” Jaime says.

“For which you still cannot bring any kind of proof,” the Hound argues.

“I saved your sorry arse, so you should better shut it,” Jaime hisses.

“What? What tells us that you don’t just tell this tale so that you get her?” Clegane questions. While Jaime is not certain about this man by any means, but if he is halfway sincere about wanting to protect Arya, he does the job outright.

Jaime doesn’t like him for that at this point, though.

“I can only repeat it. If we had an army behind us to capture Arya Stark, it would be here already,” Jaime tries to reason yet again.

“Might be a trick,” Clegane insists.

“It might be not likewise. And in any case, just what do you think how far the Red Keep will go for a girl they believe dead?” Jaime huffs.

“If you are looking for the small bird, you may have set things up for _her_ to trap her and bring her back to King’s Landing, and now try to use it on her instead,” the Hound points out. Jaime throws his head back.

He really hates those conversations.

“This is like talking to a brick wall. Listen, what do you think inspired us to go to the Eyrie with just _two_ people? This is actually more of a suicide mission, knowing that they know our faces and that there is a good amount of soldiers of the Vale between us and Sansa. If we had an army, or merely people we could send in our stead, we would have done that, because strangers might have better chances than the Kingslayer and the woman blamed for having kidnapped Sansa in the first place. We are here because we apparently _don’t_ have an army. The Seven Hells, we thought about climbing to one of the Sky Cells. You tell me, is that the move of two people who have an army to back them up?”

“Again, might all be no more than words,” Sandor insists.

“All we say is just words in the end. Look, if you are under the impression that I have any personal interest to be here and sleep on spikey rocks, away from my child, not knowing what will become of either one of us, you are simply mistaken. We are risking a whole lot to be here. We already risked a whole lot to be here. And no, I can’t say that I _like_ that. ‘Charitable’ is none of the attributes that I ever assigned to myself, and that’s no secret. I’m sticking to our vow to her mother and because we care about her sister. If not for those two things, trust me, I’d spend my days tending to my child instead of trying to explain myself to either one of you,” Jaime snaps angrily.

“Even if we believed you, what do you think we are supposed to do now?” Arya asks.

“I just know that we ought to get Sansa,” Brienne shrugs.

“Well, you won’t find her in the Eyrie, that much’s for sure, with her aunt dead and everyone else on the move, I don’t see how she’d be anywhere close to this place, if she ever was,” Clegane rolls his broad shoulders.

“Are you certain that Baelish’s taken off?” Jaime asks.

“By the gate they’ve said that the Lord of the Vale’s left,” the other man replies, making Jaime grimace.

This is no good…

He looks over at Brienne whose distress seems to climb above her head with every breath she forces into her lungs as it dawns on her more clearly that Sansa is likely no longer in the Eyrie and hence out of their reach once more.

Jaime licks his lips before speaking up with as much confidence as he has, “Well, I’d assume that they’ll proceed North. Baelish can’t take Sansa back to King’s Landing, that much is for sure. Not if he wants to hold Brienne as the culprit for her killing.”

He studies Brienne’s reaction, which consists of nothing but shallow breathing and tensing shoulders, as he goes on, “Highgarden is no option for him either, because Baelish probably knows by now that the Tyrells are on our side for the matter. I don’t think the Tullys would support him, and my brother would have heard about his party moving down that way, I’m sure. That means he has best chances proceeding North, and that means Winterfell might be a candidate.”

“What would he want in Winterfell?” Arya grimaces uncertainly.

“Return her to her home to mobilize the North. My brother said that the Boltons have taken Winterfell by now. That means that a marriage to a true princess of Winterfell would be _absolutely_ favourable to unite the North,” Jaime replies matter-of-factly.

“To what cause?” the Hound questions.

“Do what her brother, the young wolf, didn’t manage? Baelish plays the Game of Thrones, too, with the intention of winning it. And at this point, he might have good chances with the Vale and maybe the North behind him,” Jaime shrugs.

“But… you said she’s married to your brother,” Arya argues.

“And he’s believed to be dead. Even if we brought him to Winterfell to claim his wife back, it wouldn’t do much. They’d just slaughter him before he’d make it past the gate, and I can tell you that he doesn’t really fancy that option,” Jaime snorts.

“Winterfell’s all rubble,” Sandor shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter. The people in the North count on their Lords and Ladies of Winterfell. This is about the _idea_ of Winterfell, not its walls. Castles can be rebuilt. Walls can be repaired. Legacies hardly die, or take a lot more to kill. If there’s one thing true about the North, then it is that it doesn’t forget,” Jaime replies.

“Then… what?” Arya asks.

“We’ll follow her,” Jaime shrugs. “We might be able to intercept them at some point, if we ride fast enough.”

“And what do you have in mind concerning _us_?” Clegane snorts, sounding rather amused.

“I can pay you whatever sum you find appropriate to escort the other Princess of Winterfell to meet up with my brother,” Jaime replies.

“ _What_?! Why would I go to your brother?” Arya cries out.

“Because that means you are safe,” Jaime says, trying his best to keep his voice levelled.

“If Sansa’s in Winterfell, I want to come along,” Arya insists stubbornly. Jaime can only roll his eyes at that, “A minute ago you didn’t even want to believe our story. Now you want to come along with us? What happened to your oh so great trust issues, girl?”

“If my sister is by any chance in Winterfell, then I should go get her,” Arya hisses. “She’s my family. One of the last I’ve left.”

“You would do better keeping out of that,” Jaime tells her.

“I can fight,” Arya pouts.

“I’ve felt that, thank you, but we need to know you safe,” Jaime argues.

“Or in a trap,” Arya snorts, hugging her arms angrily.

“Now you tell me, would someone who wants to trap you actually consider the option to give you money and then hope that you’ll meet up with Tyrion Lannister, while already riding off to chase after Sansa Stark?” Jaime retorts, narrowing his eyes at her. Arya seems caught off-guard by this, staring at him, “… You wouldn’t come back with us?”

“It’d cost us time. The best we can do at this point is to ride fast and hopefully get to Baelish’s men before they reach Winterfell. So yes, you are not the only ones who’ll have to have some blind faith in the other party,” Jaime replies.

“But what if she isn’t on the way to Winterfell?” Sandor throws in.

“Then we’ll go another direction. We’ll have to look for clues anyway. Winterfell is what I find most logical at this point, and Baelish _is_ a smart man,” Jaime shrugs.

“But all your assumptions rely on it that he’d wants to seize power in the North. If it is as you say, and he’s abducted the little bird, what makes him so certain that bringing her to Winterfell will make her act in his interest?” Clegane argues.

“Well, to tell the truth, I hope Sansa is smart enough not to disobey him at this point, to guarantee her own safety… at the same time, we obviously can’t know what Baelish may have told her to convince her. We can only hope that she knows that we are on her side – and waits for us to come get her,” Jaime grimaces, licking his teeth.

Only the Gods will know what lies Baelish sold her and will continue to sell her in the future. So it’s not unlikely so that Sansa may no longer be counting on them to come get her, though Jaime sincerely hopes for it, already for Brienne’s sake.

“… So, you tell me your price for escorting her to my brother,” Jaime says at last.

“A hundred gold dragons?” the other man shrugs.

“Hm, how about I’ll give you thirty in advance, and the rest you’ll get from my brother? I don’t happen to have that much on me – and in any case, that’s one of the few securities we’d have. If you want to get all the money, you’ll have to deliver her to my brother, easy as that,” Jaime shrugs.

“Thirty my arse,” the Hound grunts.

“That’s all I have to offer at this point. You either take it or you don’t. Thirty is already a pretty good price since my brother’s not far from this place. You don’t even have to travel far, so… take the offer or get acquainted with the idea that you won’t get any money whatsoever,” Jaime replies. “Your choice.”

“Well, it’s either that or walkin’ around with no money in the pocket, ay?” Sandor makes a face.

“Exactly,” Jaime nods, but then turns his attention back to Arya. “So? Can we count on your cooperation likewise?”

“Does it even matter? You two seem to have found a price for me to agree on,” Arya snorts dismissively.

“That had to come,” Jaime huffs, annoyed. “Look, if it makes you happier, I will buy your services as well, like a real sellsword. I don’t care. All we care about at this point is that you two get away from here and together with people who are trustworthy. And in any case, what do you have to lose riding in that direction? Even if this, by some faint chance, might turn out to be a trap, you’ll know it and can look out for it – and if necessary simply disappear. You seem to be quite good at that. In fact, you are more likely to be in a win-win-situation than you would be if you just walked away from here now.”

Arya purses her lips with a small growl.

Wolf pups…

“You are odd people,” she shakes her head. Jaime chuckles softly, “That is probably an understatement, but yes.”

Brienne suddenly gets up from her seat, “I’m sorry, but if you excused me for a moment?”

She walks over to the Hound and hands him a jar of ointment, “For your wound to the leg, if you will.”

“… Thanks,” the man replies with a rather uncertain grimace, taking the jar from her, only to glare at Jaime. “The Seven Hells was that thing anyways? I’ve never seen something like that.”

“Oh well, it’s a present my brother’s made me…,” Jaime begins to explain, though his eyes follow Brienne as she draws away from the small camp.

He eventually finds a proper moment to go after her. Jaime finds Brienne not far from the camp, tossing stones over a nearby ledge. At the sound of his footsteps she turns abruptly, dropping the last pebble she had in hand, “What are you doing here? One ought to stay with…”

“We’d know if they took off without our knowledge, Brienne, calm down,” he tells her. Brienne lets out a grunt, running her palm over her face.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Or why do you ghost around on your own now?”

“I’m fine,” she replies defensively. “It’s everything else that isn’t.”

“What do you mean? We just got an unexpected treasure back we thought was lost. I thought you’d be in a better mood, woman,” Jaime shakes his head.

“Sansa is gone. Again. We came too late. _Again_ ,” Brienne shakes her head, her facial expression a mixture of anguish, sadness, and unshed tears.

“How were we to foresee this, you tell me?” Jaime questions.

“We should have been faster. We took too long. Now she’s… only the Gods knows where,” Brienne insists.

“We have a good idea what direction they will go. And she’s left in a short while. In fact, we now have better chances that Sansa is no longer protected by the walls of the Eyrie. To fetch her from a camp or an inn will likely be a lot easier than it would have been to break into that palace,” Jaime argues.

“We promised her. And Lady Catelyn,” Brienne says, not meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I _know_ , and we are working on that,” he exhales.

“… One should escort them to Lord Tyrion, to know them safely there,” she then says feebly, probably aware that this is none of the options Jaime favours.

“While the other, presumably a tall blond, stubborn woman, rides the other direction in search for Sansa already? Get that idea right out of your head, woman, because that’s not going to happen in a lifetime,” Jaime warns her, his voice grave.

“It would be for the best. We can be in two places, don’t you see? To make sure either daughter is safe,” Brienne insists, though she still can’t look at him.

“Just that this would mean that you’d be completely alone on a quest to getting Sansa out of Littlefinger’s clutches. And no, that’s not going to happen, Brienne,” he argues.

“We can’t be in two places at once if we both go the same direction,” Brienne argues.

“No, but we can be in one place at once – and find Sansa together,” he retorts. “And if you are that hell-bent on seeing to it that one of us escorts them to Tyrion, then I will rather go and you stay behind with Gurion. I don’t have teats he can suckle on in contrast to you.”

Brienne gapes at him, but then snaps her jaws back together, her lips curling.

“You just said that you don’t want to be here, and maybe it’d be for the best if…,” Brienne means to say, but Jaime is quick enough to interrupt her, “As if it mattered what I wanted, Brienne! Yes, I don’t want to be here, knowing that Winter is not far away, and with Gurion’s future still in danger. To claim otherwise would be a shallow lie. But it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t want to force you into things you don’t want to do. And maybe it’d be better if we had someone to keep Gurion safe. I don’t know about Ser Sandor or Arya… or Podrick for the matter,” Brienne argues.

She doesn’t want to be this person.

“Do you really think that after I went to that settlement to break you out, I’d just let you go off on your own now, woman?” Jaime huffs.

“I say that maybe it’d be the best solution at present. We ought to know Lady Arya and Gurion safe – _and_ find Sansa. And if you don’t want to be here, then… maybe it’d really be for the best if…,” Brienne mutters, but Jaime is quicker than her once more, for he is fed up with that argument, with her constant running away, if only inside her mind, “I will not have that argument with you, Brienne. You seemingly didn’t listen to me after that sentence. Yes, I don’t want to be here, but I am here because I, too, mean to keep my vows.”

“The vow to Lady Catelyn was to keep both her daughters safe, if you took care of the other while I…,” Brienne tries once more, but Jaime interrupts her harshly, “I’m not talking about my vow to Catelyn.”

Brienne looks at him, stunned, her blue eyes as wide and blue as the ocean itself.

“I once told you that I am there to have you back, didn’t I? And that was a vow I made, so get it out of your head that I let you go anywhere with just yourself and your bloody heroism,” he tells her in all sincerity that it leaves Brienne’s eyes widening even more, her mouth standing open. So Jaime goes on, “And if you come me now with how this is for Gurion’s best, I hoped we finally moved past the issue that you consider yourself no good as a parent. He is in good hands with my brother. I know it’s hard because it’s me you have to tolerate around you, but you need someone to have your back. We are in this together. I left you alone once, that won’t ever happen again. You won’t get rid of me that easily. You are not the only one who’s a bloody stubborn mule. And as for Arya and the Hound… well, the Gods will have to decide.”

“We can’t just trust the Gods with this,” Brienne argues.

“But I trust money – or rather, what effects it has on people. And even if she takes off, we know her alive. That’s what matters,” Jaime argues.

“But…,” she whispers.

“I will not discuss that with you. That’s just not going to happen. Hate me for it, I don’t care, but I won’t just let you ride off on your own. Gurion needs both of us alive if we can help it. You said so yourself. So yes, we’ll have to put some faith in those two… and the Gods, maybe, or whoever decides over the greater fates now,” Jaime insists. Brienne bows her head.

“Do we agree?” he demands.

“… Yes,” she says, her voice no more than the faintest of whispers.

“Good, then let’s go back to them and settle this. We should head out if we want to make up for the time we already lag behind. It’d be better to get to Sansa before they reach Winterfell, or else we run the same trouble we ran before, if not even more trouble,” Jaime orders.

Brienne nods mutely, averting her gaze as she trots after him back to the camp, where Sandor and Arya are eying them with suspicion, yes, but they are still there, and that’s what matters at this point.

“So alright, Brienne and I will proceed in direction of Winterfell. If we ride fast, we might have chances to catch up to them early on, so let’s get over with business so we can head our _assigned_ ways,” Jaime declares as he grabs a small sachet with counted coins he tosses over Sandor, grinning for a moment once he sees that his aim is almost as good as it was with his right. The Hound catches the pouch and opens it, glancing at the coins.

“Those already include more than is the original bargain, for your _troubles_ , and yes, that’s real gold, so you don’t have to chew on it like a bloody dog,” Jaime goes on. Clegane puts the pouch away. Jaime then turns his attention to Arya, “Look, girl, I know that probably everything inside of you is currently revolting against doing what a Lannister tells you to do, but… we need your cooperation, or rather… your _help_.”

“Hurts your face to say that, doesn’t it?” she huffs, a slight smile tugging at her thin lips.

“More than words can say, little wolf,” Jaime snorts. “But it’s no less true. We need you to help us, and more importantly your sister. We now have a chance to get her out, but for that we ought to know you safely away from all this.”

“If what you say is true and Baelish’s the one who’s taken Sansa, then I only regret it that I won’t get my revenge on him… or anyone for the matter,” she replies.

“Yeah, you have any reason to wish to seek revenge on people… me included, I suppose. The thing with revenge is this: It’s a neat solution, I must admit, but it won’t bring your loved ones back from the dead,” Jaime tells her.

“I know that, you don’t have to remind me,” she rolls her eyes at him.

“Revenge is easy most of the time. The greater challenge is to put one’s hurt over the dead aside and focus on the protection of the living,” Jaime says.

“And you know that how?” Arya narrows her eyes at him, though he notes that there is a slight quivering in her voice.

“I want Baelish’s head on a stick, but I know that I likely can’t at this point if we want to sneak into the camp to get Sansa alive – and keep the men from following us. Or you can ask her,” Jaime nods at Brienne. “She lost Renly and Catelyn as her Lord and Lady. You think she didn’t want revenge? _Doesn’t_ want revenge? She’s sworn to take it, but we are here to get the living, not chase the one’s responsible for peoples’ deaths. And the same is true for Baelish and Sansa. The revenge on him is not as important as is your sister’s protection.”

Arya looks to the side with a grimace Jaime can’t put. He seemingly hit a nerve there, or so he reckons, but knows better than go on about the matter at present, because they really ought to be heading out if they want to make any progress for the rest of the day.

“So? Can we count on you?” he asks with a sigh.

“We will head the direction and see for ourselves,” Arya replies.

“That’s good enough for me,” Jaime chuckles, straightening back up. “Alright. We should go.”

“You know this is no smart move, Kingslayer, don’t you?” Sandor warns him.

“I’d tend to say _daring_ , but fine,” Jaime shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s the best we can do at this point. And in any case, since when am I known for making smart decisions? The last time I made a choice, I got this fancy byname. Wasn’t at all smart if that was the outcome, huh?”

The Hound lets out a small laugh, “Well, we’ll see what comes of it.”

“Under the premise that you do stand true to your part of the bargain, be so good to tell my brother to where we are heading. He should know what we are up to. After all, he has to tend to our little one,” Jaime says. “Oh, and don’t eat my child, or else I’ll chase you to death, Hound.”

“I hope to see you again soon, Lady Arya, and hopefully with Sansa this time for real,” Brienne says, merely managing to get her jaws apart. It’s truly a wonder how a grown woman can seem so oddly young during moments such as these, so nervous to even look a girl about half her height in the eye without meaning to drop on her knees and beg forgiveness.

“We’ll see,” she replies, but then brings herself to offer a small smile. “… If you… if you get to see Sansa, tell her that I don’t hate her either.”

“I will,” Brienne nods frantically.

“Then we’ll be on our way… _again_ ,” Jaime shakes his head as he grabs the reins to pull his horse forward.

“Goodbye, Ser Sandor… Lady Arya,” Brienne bows stiffly before following Jaime in his steps.

Arya and the Hound stand there, watching the two work their way down the mount, to the North.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“That I get the extra money he’s offered you. I’m a sellsword, he said,” she replies.

“No way in the Seven Hells,” the Hound huffs. “You can count yourself lucky that I still didn’t decide to kill you.”

“You can count yourself lucky that I didn’t kill you yet either,” she replies.

“So… do you want to go meet the Imp? They wouldn’t ever know until it’s too late,” the Hound shrugs.

“Well, if they mean us harm, we can still take the Imp as a hostage,” Arya shrugs. “And anyways… where to if not down the hills, huh?”

“Ay, then get going,” he says, trotting back over to their camp. Arya keeps looking a while longer, feeling the gust of wind in her hair.

“Get your lazy arse movin’ already!? Or else I’ll ride off without you!”

“Coming!” she says, rolling her eyes, her grip tightening around Needle. 

Maybe…

Just maybe…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, I borrowed original lines - because I found them really fitting to put there.
> 
> Btw, the JB confrontation will come (with the next chapter). I just felt the need to get that bit of plot through before having that, because that would have affected the dynamic too much in my view. 
> 
> I apologize for maybe OOC-ishness in terms of the other characters. I still hope the characterizations don't suck completely, but... well, JB is the prime focus, so I don't know.


	35. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime have the decisive conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around!!!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this one. Meep.

Brienne and Jaime made camp for the night at last. At some point Jaime is surprised the horses didn’t die yet from the brisk ride they forced the animals into once they could ride them on even terrain again. Jaime doesn’t even want to imagine how Brienne’s body must ache after the fight with the Hound earlier, because his body screams at him not to move for some five days.

Not that he bears any hope that they will have any true break other than for matters of sleep until they have Sansa.

And they better get her, or else Brienne will surely kill him with Oathkeeper.

“… What a day,” he exhales, running his left over the back of his head, cherishing the sensation of the roots of his hair pulling on his scalp, some of the dust coming out like a small cloud, scurrying away into the darkness of the night.

“I just hope we made the right choice in the end,” Brienne makes a face.

 _Of course_ she makes a face.

Jaime tries his best not to roll his eyes.

“We’ll only know once we see the little she-wolf again,” Jaime shrugs. “But in any case it was better than _your_ suggestion by far. That much I can say for certain.”

She glares at him, which Jaime just gives a roll of his shoulders, “Deep down you know that I’m right and _that’s_ what bothers you. And the fact that I won’t let you off the hook that easily. I can be a giant pain in the arse as well, you should know best.”

Obviously, Jaime knows where her suggestion also came from. He knows that she tries to escape all of this. While she usually stands so very strong, Brienne has a tendency way too close to his own, which is to run away on the inside when reality doesn’t treat you kindly.

But Jaime won’t let her, no matter how much she may complain about the matter.

Brienne purses her lips, looking at the flames of the small campfire she started, her sapphire eyes gleaming a pale kind of orange.

Here they are – nowhere close to Sansa. Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

And Brienne doesn’t even want to think what will or already has become of Arya. What if the girl just turned the other way? What if the Hound doesn’t do as he promised?

What if…?

What if…

She takes up one of the bigger twigs to poke at the logs crackling as the flames slowly consume them, greedily devour them, only for some ashes to rise out of the flame like a small light of white that then fades into the blackness of the night.

“I reckon you should be relieved that it comes down to having to trust each other’s vows,” Jaime goes on, pulling her out of her thoughts drifting off with the bits of ashes swallowed by the darkness of the night.

“But if they…,” she means to say, but Jaime interrupts her, his tune rather light, “I told you, your option was not up to discussion. That’s the best we could do. If vows are worth a single thing, then this is the trial to prove it.”

“The question is not the vow itself, but if someone means to stick to it,” Brienne says solemnly.

“In fact,” Jaime agrees. “And who’d dare question the integrity of one of Lady Catelyn’s daughters, or Gods forbid, the formidable and so very adored Hound?”

“Are you mocking me, in all sincerity?” Brienne looks at him. “This is no laughing matter.”

“In fact it is. Think about it. We ran into _Arya Stark_. The believed dead daughter of House Stark. That’s… you can only laugh at the world’s madness for simply letting us run into the girl. How high were the chances for that, you tell me?” Jaime lets out a dry chuckle.

“… Perhaps it’s as you say… and it’s more about that she’s alive for now…,” Brienne mutters, unsmiling. “We’ll… we’ll have to have faith.”

“Indeed,” Jaime sighs, glancing up to the stars shining down on them in milky white.

“Curious enough how everything comes down to these things lately,” Jaime exhales. “Always these damned vows and promises and hopes for someone more or less honourable to keep them. To dare to trust in people whom we barely know…”

Brienne says nothing, instead moves another log from one corner of the fire to the other.

“Well, and since we are both hell-bent on fulfilling our oaths… you still owe me to make good on a promise you gave me not long ago,” Jaime says, purposely keeping his voice light in tune. Brienne whips her head around, the twig in her hand disappearing in the flames, making them spark up once. She looks like a scared deer anyway.

Subtlety is really lost on that woman.

“We don’t have Sansa yet…,” Brienne says slowly.

And here we go again.

Running.

Always running.

But Jaime is fed up with it. Lions are always up for a chase.

“And it will be some time until we are anywhere close to her. That means we have indeed time now to focus on that before we can bother about tactics yet again. Now we’ll have to go with whatever situation we will have once we get them, for we cannot know. Or do you mean to break your solemn vow to me after all?” Jaime cocks an eyebrow at her, though now even she knows that he is more than sincere.

“No,” Brienne replies feebly.

She knew this would come.

She knew.

But to say it…

“Well, then make good on that promise you made me,” Jaime says.

He knows it’s rather unfair, but Jaime also knows that this is the only chance he will probably ever get to finally make her have that conversation with him.

The only way to make that woman move is by tackling her damned vows after all.

“What do you want to hear then?” Brienne asks defensively, to which Jaime only rolls his eyes, “I don’t just want to _hear_ something. I see the apparent need that we two _talk_ , you know? Conversation, like normal human beings, no matter how much of a nuisance for either one of us that may pose.”

Brienne licks her lips, forcing a shallow breath out of her ribcage.

That is always the thing for her. She can mentally brace herself for these moments all she wants, for Jaime even gave her a warning in advance, pretty much, but once the situation is there… the words just leave her along with her breath.

“We have to figure out what is between us. And now don’t you dare say ‘air’ or so. You know exactly what I’m talking about, so let’s drop the act,” Jaime warns her. “I know that you hate to talk especially about _these_ matters, we _both_ do, trust me in this, but the way we handle things right now… it doesn’t work.”

“… It worked pretty well up to this point,” Brienne argues, though she knows it comes out even more pathetically than it sounded inside her head.

She feels so much younger, so much more insecure during those moments that she would just love to disappear like the ashes in the darkness of the night.

So no one sees.

No one hears.

No one asks questions she doesn’t know the answers to.

“Because we both eat it up. And now let me tell you as someone who has a _long_ history of eating things up: It doesn’t do you any good. Brienne, you are a terrible liar, so to say that this doesn’t affect you is like trying to make me believe that you are the current Queen of Westeros. I know those looks you give me and I know those frowns you make thinking about the matter as we ride our horses. I know you, like it or not. We now have a chance to clarify that, because it’s just us two… and whatever bugs roam over the ground here,” Jaime tells her, frowning around once.

“Fine, I… I promised you, so, yes, fine… I…,” she turns her head in his direction slightly, but then averts her gaze again before his eyes can capture hers, biting her lower lip.

She knew this would come.

And Brienne thought about it a lot, but then again, the words won’t come.

They never do when she needs them to.

They always flutter away like bird before she can catch them.

Why can’t words be like horses?

Brienne knows how to ride horses. She knows how to communicate with a mare to make it move this way or another. She doesn’t know how to train birds, though. She can’t tell them to fly or rather, stay on the ground for once.

“If you allow, I’ll begin,” Jaime says, halfway offering to make the first step, seeing her struggle for the words. “I know that I’ve made _more_ than one mistake which… produced almost all of that mess, so I know that I’m in fact in no position to ask for anything. I think you know by now that I’m sorry for it, but the fact that I’m sorry doesn’t change anything about it that it happened. There’s nothing I can do or say at present to undo this. I never should have slept with Cersei once I returned to King’s Landing, and even if I had, I should have talked to you about the matter – before. I should have been clear with you about the matter. Not to mention that I never should have thrown at you what I said during our argument before you left with the ship. Lions backed in corners are truly foolish creatures, biting whatever hand extends to them.”

“I _did_ understand that it was said more in the heat of the moment than anything else… and… you had a point,” Brienne argues, her voice a little higher towards the end.

Because she really understood that by now, she did.

No matter how much that stung and still stings.

“Even if I did, I was not in the position to say that to you. I made a mistake and I pushed the blame over to you. That’s something I shouldn’t have done, simple as that,” Jaime says. “While I give mostly little one it, it wasn’t chivalrous, it wasn’t _right_. I was frustrated with my own inability and mistakes and reflected that on you. That was simply unfair of me.”

“… We both said things of that nature… And I, uhm, about what you said… If there even is something worth to forgive… I forgave you for it, for you didn’t mean it in a bad way, I know that,” Brienne says, trying her best to sound self-conscious about the matter.

Because she made any effort to do that. Brienne didn’t bring herself to forget, she tried to forgive, calling to mind what must have been going on inside Jaime’s head by the time, trying to put herself in his spot. It drained the anger out of her, and some of the pain along with it.

Jaime licks over his lips nervously.

Really, that woman in all her stubbornness, is still too good for the world. Even such grudge leaves her eventually.

“You see, I just… all I mean to ask for is that you tell me… what I am to you, still. If there is any chance for me to… not _fix_ that, for I know there’s nothing to repair past mistakes, but… if there’s a chance for you and I… _together_ , because…,” Jaime stops, and suddenly Brienne’s eyes are right on his, the blue sparing out of the darkness like the Northern stars.

“To tell the truth… the problem wasn’t that I _thought_ that I loved you, but that I didn’t see that I had fallen in love with this idealistic, too-good-for-the-world, stubborn wench who’s pushed me around way earlier on, way before my mind even comprehended that this is what it was, _is_...,” Jaime says at last, the words tumbling out with an ease he didn’t dare to believe was possible.

Here they are – after he couldn’t bring himself to say them when it mattered.

Here they are at last.

Brienne’s eyes open wide once, but then focus on the flame again, her gestures sheepish at best.

Like a bloody scared deer, still.

Not that this comes as a surprise to Jaime, though. He expected no less.

“Even if it’s no justification, I never knew what that’s like, you see? Falling in love… With Cersei… there always was… love. Because she is my family, and you love your family… but at some point we two just… ended up where we ended up. I never _fell_ in love with her. I just thought I was. I simply… was. So I didn’t know that this is what happened to me when I met you…,” Jaime goes on, his words creeping, approaching, on their invisible knees. “I didn’t understand that this is what falling in love feels like. Though I daresay, the situations in which all this took place complicated and overshadowed _some_ of it.”

Because who believes to find love being tied to another person, in the hands of some not brave companions, at the bottom of a bear pit?

“But Gurion…,” she mutters, but he is quick enough to interrupt her, “This is not about Gurion, Brienne. It’s simply not. I know that my enthusiasm for him clouded some… _most_ of my judgment, but… this happened earlier on, long before you had that stone in hand, long before you tossed that vial away, long before we reached King’s Landing. I just didn’t see it. I’m a man who often ends up making no smart choices, what can I say?”

Brienne looks at him, her eyebrows furrowing, lips curling.

And it is only during that moment that it dawns on Jaime that this is likely the first time someone said such a thing to her.

Admits such feelings to her.

“I am here with _you_ now. Because it’s _you_ I care about. I was without Gurion and you after you left towards Tarth. It _did_ put things into perspective for me. Believe it now or not, but when Father had me ordered to his study to tell me that there was an _incident_ at the sea… it was _you_ who was on my mind first, not the child. It was you,” Jaime says, finally finding it within him to say words he usually likes to ridicule with his self-conscious smile and wit.

Because this is simply the truth he wasn’t ready to admit to himself back during those moments when it really mattered.

And Jaime understood one thing by now – that Brienne deserves that bit of truth, no matter what becomes of it.

Brienne keeps staring at him, her expression completely blank, as though every thought was drawn out of her body, seeping to the ground like bad blood from a wound.

“I… I never let you… explain,” Brienne says after a moment of silence, to which Jaime tilts his head to the right side, “You mean to say?”

“I… back in King’s Landing, you wanted to tell me your reasons. Why you laid with her. I didn’t want to hear them, though. Because I thought them cheap excuses. I see it now, I never gave you a proper chance to explain yourself,” she tells him, her gaze darting back and forth and back again. “Though I should have granted you that chance.”

Jaime blinks at her. At some point it really shouldn’t surprise him anymore, but still it does.

This woman is fuller of wonder than she’d ever know.

“Well, at some point it’s really hard to put into words, but… now, in the retrospective, I see that what Cersei and I had was mostly about seeking familiarity. As children, we used to say that we were each other’s mirrors. We looked the same. Even our parents couldn’t tell us apart at times, if we wore the same attire. We thought that we were one part of a whole… and at some point we clung on to that so desperately that… well, you know what. We thought we were the same, and… the thing is… the captivity and the journey with you, the loss of my hand… those things left me changed. They left me a different man. They left me…,” Jaime says, glancing up, fidgeting for the words, and Brienne completes, “No longer her mirror.”

“No longer my old self, which I thought I saw reflected in her, if that’s making any sense,” he says.

“Why did you want to be the old you again?” Brienne whispers.

She thought he wanted that change.

He even said it, that he wanted it, but found himself unable to change.

Why did he choose the old over the new?

“I always thought that this was the best I could get. I thought that this would be all I’d ever be. I thought that the best I could get would be to be a formidable swordfighter, make nasty comments as much as I can, keep my family safe… and to be with Cersei. To keep up the man I was before I killed Aerys, before others only saw me for the Kingslayer and no longer for… anything else. I thought that this would be all I’d ever be, and I thought I was fine with that… but then _you_ came. Stomped your way into that muddy pen. This mulish, mannish woman who feels more comfortable in armour than in dress, who rarely gets her jaws apart, and whom I thought was too dull to understand anything about the real world out there. You came and… proved me completely wrong,” Jaime says with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“But why change back?” Brienne insists.

“Foremost, because I thought you’d leave,” Jaime shrugs. She looks at him, so he goes on, “You see, for the longest of times, I’ve moulded myself after others. After Cersei for the most part. But also Tyrion. Father even… the people close to me, simple as that. But then you came and reminded me of those troublesome yet somehow seemingly worthwhile ideals of knighthood, of honour and oaths. And eventually I found myself wanting to be a man of that like. I really wanted to be _this_. I wanted to be this so desperately.”

He shakes his head, chewing on his lower lip once before he goes on, “But then it was suddenly about how you’d leave and I… believe it or not, felt simply… _uncertain_ … if it was within my capabilities to keep that up, without you there to remind me of these things, beating the knightly sense of honour into me whenever I slipped, tripped, or fell. To keep me from… corruption yet again. And then it seemed so much easier to go back to the man I used to be, the one who makes his heart go dead when times get really hard. Who made his heart go dead when he killed his King in favour of his loved ones. Who made his heart go dead, seeing people burn. Who made his heart go dead upon the loss of his hand. Who doesn’t care, who holds on to the things he knows he can have. It was never about hurting you. It was not about denying you. Or playing a vicious game at your expenses, it’s just… I…”

“You what?” Brienne asks softly, not demanding, just wanting to know, needing to know.

“I just didn’t see myself worthy enough to deserve this. _You_. Because it’s truly tough to live up to your standards, wench, I’m not going to lie. It’s tough when someone is so very good while you are so very bad. When someone shines so brightly, you only see your own shadows ever the clearer,” Jaime admits.

“I never meant to,” Brienne argues. “I really meant that back then. I didn’t ever mean to force you to become someone you are not, or do not want to be.”

“I know you didn’t mean to. I know you don’t do this on purpose. Just like I know that this is purely irrational,” Jaime lets out a dry laugh.

It’s so very ridiculous, thinking about it.

If only people managed to just live in the real world instead of creeping around their own heads, filled with all those evil thoughts that pull them back, keep them from walking forward, running, jumping, climbing.

“But, uhm…,” Brienne says, chewing on her lip. Jaime tilts his head at her, so she speaks up again, if hesitantly, “You are no bad man.”

“I am, Brienne,” Jaime huffs, amused. “You know what I did to the Stark boy, among others…”

“Just like I know what you did for me. I know what you did for the people in King’s Landing when the Mad King raged. You have many things about you that bear darkness, but there’s also light. You are no bad man, you just have many shadows. And I’m no person of light. I know that. I have my own shadows, too. I made bad choices, too,” Brienne tells him.

“But not of my like, I’m sure,” Jaime huffs.

“I didn’t push Bran Stark from the tower, no. And that is something only he would have had the right and power to forgive you for – or ask of you to redeem yourself for it, but since he is no longer… the best you can do is what you do at present, and that is to help his family instead,” Brienne says in a hushed voice. “Even if you don’t seem to see it, I saw it. You are a changed man, you already were when Locke’s men took us… but… I made bad choices, too. Still make them. Will continue to make them. Just like you will. However, you are no longer the man you used to be, and while I can’t say much about the man you once were before I met you, I believe you are a better man by far.”

Jaime flashes a small smile, letting the words seep right beneath his skin.

They feel warmer than the campfire.

“I agree, that experience left me changed. I lost more than my hand to Locke and his men. I left a good amount of self-confidence, of self-understanding in that meagre piece of flesh now rotting in Harrenhal. Its absence called things into question for me, a lot of them. Things about myself that I thought static, a part of me I thought no one could cut out, no matter what blade. About who I am, about what I am now. My own worth and… well, I didn’t have as much faith in myself as you seemingly had it in me, and that only made me feel like more of a failure,” Jaime shrugs.

It’s no good explanation, but it’s the best he can give.

“One of my mistakes, at least I see it so now, is that… I didn’t think I’d ever match you. I thought I could match Cersei, I believed it for an achingly long time. It seemed easier. Going back to Cersei was easier. Familiar. In the end, I went the way of least resistance… and I simply should have… I should have tried harder,” he admits, looking at her again. “I should have fought more.”

“… Maybe you should have…,” Brienne says aloud before she can even think about it. She covers her mouth, in a meagre attempt to stuff the word back in. She looks at Jaime again, who only offers a small yet strangely reassuring smile.

“The thing is this, Brienne: I cannot demand from you to… _accept_ that… or that you take me back or… whatever else. I just… you are supposed to know… you _deserve_ to know, I believe. I do love you, Brienne, I was just too much of a fool not to see that when it mattered, was too much of a fool not to say it when I should have. But it’s the truth I’m speaking, and I won’t deny it ever again.”

The words hang in the air, are not carried away like the ashes are taken away by the small wind brushing both their faces.

Brienne just stares, looks, as though she could see the words before her, but can’t believe them real, as though they’d burst if she dared to reach out to them.

“But… the choice is up to you,” he then says, snapping Brienne out of her stillness, “Choice?”

“If there is a chance for me to come anywhere close to where I once was. If you are willing to give this fool of a man a chance to redeem himself – to you. If you can bring yourself to loving back the man of a fool I am … But that is up to you to say. And I will do… whatever you decide. While I can’t say that I can just switch it off… I will… keep the required distance and not… ask you again. Back in King’s Landing, I made the choice without giving you a chance to do the same. I presented you with a reality I didn’t let you take part in. Now we are both here, so it’s only fair if you get to choose now. It’s your life, your heart, and what you decide to do with it is up to you and you alone. The choice is yours… but for that… you have to _say_ it. You have to say it, Brienne, I need you to say it. That’s all I’m asking. I need to hear it from you,” he says.

Because he really does. Jaime needs to hear it. He needs that bit of clarity, so he can arrange himself, so that she can arrange herself.

No more obscurities.

Just the plain reality.

However wonderful or hurtful it may be.

There is a long moment in which one can only hear the crackling of the flames as they go on eating the wood greedily.

“I… I… don’t want there to be a chance,” she says at last.

Jaime looks at her for a long moment, letting out a small sigh.

Some doors seemingly got the iron bars in front already…

“I don’t want there to be a chance. I… I adjusted myself to people calling me names, to people not loving me, mocking me, lying to me. I just… didn’t let it close to me. You were right. I use my armour for those matters. But the thing is that… you… you managed to get past it. I don’t know how you did it. I just know _that_ you did and… and that’s why… this hurt me. It… _hurt_ me. It hurt me worse than any stab wound I ever got, any kick, any punch, any single time people called me Brienne the Beauty in mockery. It hurt me because I trusted you not to hurt me in that way, but then you did. And that hurt even more,” she admits out loud at last.

It hurt her worse than she ever let on. It scorched deeper than any iron poker ever reached.

“I understand that, and I’m sorry for it,” Jaime says with a sad grimace.

Because he is.

“I know,” Brienne nods. “Because that is the other thing. That is the other thing why I don’t want there to be a chance. Deep down I understood that you didn’t mean for it, that you just… ended up doing it. How am I supposed to hate you for it when you can’t help it? That’s unfair. It’s unfair when you can’t be as mad at the person as you want to be. Because he didn’t do it out of malice or with the intent to hurt. I could _strangle_ you for it that you don’t happen to be one of the men who placed a wager on my maidenhead. _Those_? I could just hate them, curse their names. But _you_? I saw it in your eyes, I knew it, no matter what I said, that you didn’t mean for this. And for that I wanted to hit you and strangle you. That no matter what, I can’t hate you for it and be done with it.”

She couldn’t stop the bleeding because the wound kept oozing from the tie not cut, impossible to cut. That she couldn’t find it in herself to hate him, put him in the same pot as all the other men who called her names.

She could never hate him.

She still can’t.

And _that_ hurts.

“And I get even angrier just thinking about it how you, in your snotty, conceited way still manage to see the truths in me I don’t even want to admit to myself. How you manage to say the things about myself that I cannot even wrap in a tight bundle inside my head. I hate it that you can read me most of the time. And _say_ it, right to my face. I hate that. I _hate_ it. I hate it that you know about my armour. I hate it that you are bloody well right about it that you were not the only one at fault in this mess. I hated it that you were right with it that I was unfair to you likewise, by not saying what was inside my head, inside my heart. I hated you for it that you showed me my very boundaries, like you accused me of showing you yours. I hated that. I still hate it. Because it hurt. It all hurt. It still hurts. Stabbed deeper and deeper every damn time, still does,” Brienne goes on, gritting her teeth, her eyes gleaming.

Jaime just looks at her, listens to her.

Because, at last, he gets the words from her, no matter how unpleasant they may be.

No matter how they hurt her.

Or him.

Healing can only begin once you clean the wound, cut off the rotten flesh, and bring down the hot iron to burn away all the rest.

And it is healing that they need more than anything else.

“I don’t want there to be a chance because it hurt me so much more than I ever thought was possible. I don’t want to feel like this ever again. Back when I was younger, I swore to myself to never feel like this. So helpless and unable. I swore to myself to prove people wrong, not right. To prove all the boys wrong who thought I couldn’t fight back, only because I didn’t get my jaws apart. I wanted to prove them wrong with my fists and both my knees. I wanted to prove Father wrong. That I wouldn’t ever be the pretty noble daughter, ready to be married off to a rich merchant or prince, even, and give him the heirs he needs to keep up the family name. I wanted to prove to him that I still had honour, though. I wanted to prove him that I could jump those boundaries… In Renly’s camp, I wanted to prove every bloody sword and every bloody knight wrong, believing a woman incapable of standing her ground against them. I wanted to prove the whole world wrong for making me the ugly thing I am. I wanted to prove you wrong, too, that I could stand up against you, when you kept mocking me again and again _and again_. I wanted to tear boundaries down. I didn’t want to accept them… and then _you_ come and at some point I get the feeling that I truly surpass some of them, also thanks to you, only to run head-first into _this_ one,” Brienne says through pursed lips.

It was thanks to Jaime that she took the hurdle of motherhood, of being able to let go, forget the world for a bare moment on cold moss.

Only to show her this wall – and how she couldn’t seem to climb it.

“That in the end, I’m still this foolish young girl I was back on Tarth, not getting her jaws apart. I never… I never talked much. I talked even less about my feelings. Not even to Father. I never… I never knew how. I told you about my Septa, and how she’s knocked sense into me that no man would ever desire me for my looks. That hurt me, too, more than I would ever admit to myself. I didn’t know how to deal with that, what to do with it. But I couldn’t tell Father. I didn’t know how. Even when he’s asked me, encouraged me to say what was on my mind, what made me walk around like a turtle, hiding its head inside its shell. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t explain to him why I wanted to train with swords so badly, why I fought the boys, even though I kept losing. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know the words, and even if I did… no matter how many books I read to find the words, once they concerned what was inside my heart, the words just disappeared. I was mute. I felt mute for _so_ long… and… and then I learned the language of the weapons and I thought that this might be enough. Because I became swift with _that_ language,” Brienne says with a sad smile towards the end, and Jaime can only agree with a crooked grin, “Very swift indeed. _I_ should know.”

“But then _you_ came. And suddenly… it was yet again about the language I did not speak. Because I, the fool I am, believed that what I said in the languages I do know… was enough to make you understand,” Brienne admits feebly.

“I should have understood…,” he mutters.

He really should have.

Her acts of kindness were probably her way of saying it, just that Jaime couldn’t take them for what they meant aside from simple kindness.

“No, and that’s the thing, the oh so frustrating thing. I know I should have found the words. I know I should have tried to say them to you, because… you deserved them, too. Because I keep talking about honesty and all these things, but it’s as you said. I lied, too, by not telling, by not getting my jaws apart. Out of fright. It was cowardice, simple as that. I should have… I should have tried, like you should have. I should have tried harder. But once I found the courage to… it was too late. Again. Like it’s always too late for me, or so it seems. I always come too late. I always do. Yet another boundary I did not manage to tear down, and probably won’t ever,” she exhales wearily.

“Brienne…,” he means to say, but she holds up one hand to stop him, “But that doesn’t even matter. The matter is… all these things from the past… they made my armour very heavy on me, and hard to take off. That’s why I… why I went with the easy kinds of love, as you said, the marvelling from a distance. Safe love. Less tears. Less expectations. I loved Renly because he treated me kindly. Because he didn’t see me for my incapabilities, but for my abilities. He made me part of his Kingsguard because I won in the melee. Because of an achievement. He appreciated… what I wanted others to see in me. Something I could actively affect and change, train…”

She smiles sadly, calling him to her mind, that most glorious moment when she won in the melee, no matter how her body had ached from the blows she had received, only to tear her helmet off and prove to all spectators and contestants that it was her, all along, the woman they laughed at and made bets on who’d get inside her bed first, only to win the wager.

To her, the best thing was that Renly, in his kindness, seemingly understood that she wanted to prove her worth in just that way, and saw her worth in just that way thus.

That he understood that her worth came from the good actions she undertook, and not the bad, shadowy aspects about herself she cannot change no matter what she does.

“Curiously enough, I, too, thought that this wold be the best I could possibly get. That this is all I could ever wish for. Because I know that no one would ever love me for the look of my face or my body or my scars. Because I know that I’m not the charming character who’s good for a laugh at every social gathering. Who knows how to act around children. Who knows how to raise them in the first place. Who knows how to talk swiftly. Who is not so bloody idealistic that people keep their distance,” Brienne grimaces. “I am _this_ … and… and I fear I won’t ever be much different from the present me. I’m working on myself, but I won’t wake up a beauty one day. I won’t become as witty as your brother… or suddenly master the language I did not learn to speak comprehensibly for almost all my life. I will probably always cling on to my armour instead, so that I don’t have to talk about… _feelings_. I will always be stubborn, mulish, and mannish. And… and I won’t ever be Cersei.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be Cersei,” Jaime argues. “And I never would have demanded from you to be just that.”

“She is the one woman you’ve ever been with, other than me. She was your first and… and I won’t ever be like her. Not even the good aspects she must have about herself, too, somewhere. I won’t ever be like her,” Brienne says.

“Brienne, I really don’t _want_ you to be like Cersei. Why would I have left her if I still wanted her? Or if I wanted you to be like her?” Jaime replies.

“I don’t say that you’d _want_ me to be like this, I just fear that… that the day will come that you come to realize that I’m _not_ this and that I won’t ever be this… and that you’d… regret…,” Brienne whispers, forcing the words out of her ribcage to the points that her lungs ache.

“I won’t,” he says quickly.

“How would you know?” she questions.

“There is no guarantee for anything, but… for that we have our promises, don’t we?” Jaime offers a small, crooked smile.

“We swear too much,” Brienne argues.

“I wouldn’t break that vow,” Jaime tells her.

“Even if not… I… I made this one promise to myself. It was shortly after my third betrothal was… _over_ … I promised myself to never let a man hurt me the way he and Ser Ronnet before him had. That no man would get to do that to me… and after that ball… and Renly’s told me that all the boys laughing at me were just nasty little shits who didn’t deserve my tears… I only vowed ever the harder. I didn’t dare let men close to me. I was suspicious all the while… and then… again… _you came_. One of the snottiest, most foul-mouthed men I’ve ever met in my entire life… and that same man I choose to sleep with for the first time. Gods help me,” she huffs with a crooked smile, glancing up to the starry night’s sky.

Jaime chuckles softly, “They like to play their japes.”

“… I broke the promise I made to myself, the one promise I made for my own sake to protect myself. My mentor, Ser Goodwin, always said to me that my problem was that I had the body of a man, but still a woman’s heart… I reckon he was right with that. Why does the heart have to be such a fragile place when it has to contain so very much, has to _take_ so very much? I wish it were of steel, not flesh. Flesh can be cut, steel can be used to cut. I let you closer than any man, perhaps any person I’ve ever met in my life. And no matter how much I clung on to my initial promise… in the end you got to me and… and I can’t ever return to that state where I had my armour intact. We are bound together, there is no denying. We are parts of each other’s worlds. I cannot cut myself loose from you. No matter what, I won’t get rid of you,” Brienne shakes her head.

Jaime smiles sadly, “More like a demon haunting you, huh?”

“I wish you were. I wish you were just this. Then I could cast you out. But I can’t. I can’t hate you – because I understand you even when I don’t,” Brienne replies. “And that hurts way too often, way too much. It leaves me vulnerable.”

Her mouth flexes nervously, fidgeting for the words flying in the air, for her to capture for once, pull down on invisible strings and tie to her, to him.

“So _no_ , I _don’t_ want there to be a chance. I really don’t want there to be a chance. I really don’t,” Brienne whispers, her eyes glistening in the light of the stars and the campfire even more vibrantly than they do by nature.

Jaime nods his head slowly, glancing over to the fire instead, cherishing the flash of warmth against his face, “It’d be a lie to say that I’m not disappointed, but I… I understand. As you will, Brienne, I…”

But suddenly he finds his head pulled away from the warmth of the fire, into the dim light of just the stars, into the warmth of a touch he had already given up on.

Her lips on his.

Needing.

His lips on hers.

Wanting.

Breathing into him.

Breathing into her.

Touches that seemed so distant, almost lost.

But so familiar.

He feels the cold of her tears against his skin.

He feels the curiously soft but warm pressing of her chapped, rough lips against his own chapped, rough lips.

If only those moments were woven out of forever, but she pulls away, breaking the moment, tearing the strings apart at once, the cold wind brushing over both their damp faces, her big blue eyes glancing at him, her chest quivering, heaving.

“I don’t want there to be a chance, but there is.”

Jaime runs the thumb of his left hand over her cheek, wiping some of the tears away, finding his own eyes stinging. And this time, she doesn’t flinch away from him. She just looks at him, and he looks at her.

For a bare moment, it is almost the way it was back when they first laid with each other.

There were no words.

Just moonlight.

Tranquillity.

Closeness.

The certainty that he held her and she held him.

There was just them.

Now it is just them.

The shadows from both their past disappearing in the darkness of the night.

Jaime simply pulls her to him, holds her close, vowing to himself that he won’t ever make the mistake again to let her go. He did that once, and it tore him to pieces, to shreds and tatters, back in King’s Landing.

“I will use that chance, I swear it.”

“You better do.”

Jaime cups her chin and brings her lips back on his, feeling as though he can breathe a lot easier now, not caring for the tears falling, cherishing only that he finally gets to hold her again, in the hope that he can grow to deserve her.

And the ashes keep flying into the darkness of the night.

And the stars keep raining their light down on them.

It is a strange thing, to fall in love.

It is even a stranger thing to fall back in love.

But the truth, the plain and simple truth remains:

It is worthwhile.


	36. Danny Flint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is in an inn, short before reaching Winterfell. 
> 
> And the song of Danny Flint hums in the background...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Deepest apologies for taking this awfully long to update. In all sincerity, I did not abandon this story, I want to finish it, it's just damn hard for me right now to get it done. 
> 
> Not only writer's block but also personal issues have kept me from most of all of my *creative* writing lately. And with this story, I had a hard time determining the next steps. 
> 
> I now have settled with this scenario, even if I grant myself yet again a bit of plot convenience. I hope it will pan out somehow. Plotting in terms of the kinds of things covered in this chapter are not my field of expertise, so, ugh... in case it's really as bad as I fear it actually is, just imagine that this plan is super amazing and logical, LOL. ;) 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy anyway. 
> 
> Much love to you all for sticking with me and for the encouraging comments and kudos ♥♥♥

Sansa tries her best to focus on the goblet of red arbor in front of her to somehow distract herself from the surrounding noises of the inn they spent the last two nights at. Due to a sudden snow storm, they couldn’t move further, closer to Winterfell, “home”, or so Baelish insisted. If he were a man of the North, he would have ridden anyway, “snow storm” notwithstanding.

Sansa’s father would have.

Robb would have.

Arya probably would have, too.

But Sansa is not her father, not her brother, and not her sister. So she just nodded at the sound of Baelish’s words, sat in silence, and waited – for the storm to pass, or perhaps rather not to pass.

Just like she waits now.

For what?

Only the Old Gods will know if there even is something to wait for, still.

She just wants to be out of this place in particular, though.

Away.

Wherever that is.

She’d rather walk her way through ice and snow.

If only to get a feeling of the home she’s travelling to.

The home long since forgotten, stomped-on snow.

She pushes the bowl of food away from her. To tell the truth, Sansa didn’t’ feel like eating ever since… she can’t even remember since when. It all makes her sick. Not even lemon cakes can help with that, if there were any. 

Sansa doesn’t feel like anything much.

She doesn’t dare to.

Or else she’d shatter, burst.

Or maybe not.

At some point, Sansa starts to believe that maybe bursting would serve as a kind of relief. Then maybe she could piece herself back together thereafter, but she doesn't burst.

She just endures, or rather, has to.

“Are you unwell?” she can hear Baelish ask from next to her. “You have barely touched your meal.”

“I am… sated,” she replies, not looking at him, not looking at anyone in particular.

Though “fed up” is the more appropriate term.

She is fed up with the drunkards lulling songs.

If they don't scream them, out of tune.

She is fed up with the drunkards brawling.

The smell of wine and beer… and other things.

She is fed up with all of this.

A serving of broth with meat doesn’t make her hungry for more.

“Well, we should rejoice. Some of the locals said that the storm will pass tomorrow, the day after tomorrow the latest,” Baelish tells her. “And that means we can finally make our way to your home, Lady Sansa.”

“Home,” she says, allowing the word to hang in the air for a long moment, as though it was a puppet, which only makes her think of the doll her father had given her back in King’s Landing, the one she told him she didn’t have use for anymore, because she was too old for it, or so she said.

Sometimes she wished she had taken it along, if only as a reminder, however childish it may be.

As a small reminder of a time that was home.

A place that was home.

Of people who were home.

Sansa is pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of a loud shout coming from the common folks from the other side of the common hall.

She can hear Baelish mutter at the two guards commanded to keep watch over them – while the others are busy getting drunk or lose their money in some game of cards or roll of dice, the snow storm seemingly having made them very lazy.

But who could blame them? Upon Lord Baelish’s order, they had a look at all the guests, so why bother to check again?

Sansa tilts her head slowly.

It’s odd how people can morph into the elements of nature once they are many.

They can morph into the earth, disappearing to the ground below, as though they weren’t there, even when bad strikes the earth, just like they can morph into avalanches, hard and unforgiving as they crush down on their victims.

They can morph into the winds, whooshing away, moving past without a single touch, a single noise, are just gone.

They can morph into the fire, screaming, shouting, heated, angry war cries – for a man to lose his head who never deserved it, burning deeper and deeper into the flesh with every flicker of the flame.

And they can morph… into the waters. Waves crushing, up and down and up again, reaching higher and higher, just to crash back into the ocean of the people to rise once more, unending.

And at present, Sansa seems to be surrounded by the latter, the crowd rising at once, and falling the next moment, crashing like a giant wave, collapsing upon itself as the brawl starts to unfold – and creep closer to their table with every second passing.

“Someone put an end to that bar fight already,” she can hear Baelish order some of his men. Sansa’s eyes are focused on the wave of people, however. A tall man with black, unkempt curls falling into his face rising above even that giant wave, shaking out his bruised wrist after he knocked one of the others to the ground, sending the other man halfway across the room. More people throw themselves at the tall man with raven hair, only to be shaken off as he stomps his way forward over to the man he taught how to fly, seemingly out for teaching him a second lesson.

Sansa shifts back in her seat, the air catching in her throat.

“By the Gods,” Baelish mutters, motioning at the guards. “Bring Lady Sansa to her chamber, _now_.”

Sansa simply gets up and follows the two men assigned to her protection, while Baelish will likely take it upon himself to put an end to that mess, or rather, _have_ it be put to an end by his men – because Littlefinger won’t move his little finger to do that, obviously, and because he needs the quiet tonight. He is supposed to meet up with some man of the Boltons – to escort them to Winterfell, or so Sansa gathered from the snippets that came through the filter of silence she usually cloaks herself in.

After all, men of the North _do_ ride through such a storm.

The guards guide her to her chamber, lead her inside, give the room a quick glance around, and then mutter something she doesn’t hear as they disappear, taking their stance outside her room, or so she reckons.

Sansa lets out a sigh as she walks through the room and over to the small window. She opens it, daring the snowflakes to fly into the room and into her hair, the cold air preserving them in shape instead of melting them. She glances out into the pitch black night, which seems to swallow everything, and spitting out some snowflakes in return. The cold air burns on her skin, but she finds it more soothing than the warmth of the fires in the common hall by far.

She leans out a little more, glad to find the night dark and silent.

That means the former Stark bannersman did not arrive yet.

The faintest of smiles flashes across her face, but then, suddenly, something moves out of the darkness of the night, into the room. Sansa means to scream, but she finds her mouth covered with an ice-cold hand as the shadow pushes her back into the room.

“Shhhht. You have to be silent.”

Sansa’s eyes open wide as the cloak of darkness is ripped away from the person’s shoulders in the dim candlelight, revealing only a person, wrapped in a heavy cloak and furs, with familiar, darting eyes.

“Will you be silent?”

She nods. He pulls his hand away at once.

“S, Ser Jaime?!” she whispers, her voice quivering. He flashes a nervous smile at her, crystals of ice glistening in his beard, shaking snow out of his hair as it melts, leaving droplets on the ground.

“Look, I don’t know what Baelish’s been telling you all this time, but whatever he said concerning Brienne or me and what we meant to do with you, it was a lie. We wanted to help you and…,” Jaime mutters in a low voice, but the words are knocked out of him when Sansa throws her arms around him, holding on tight.

Jaime blinks, breathing hard, slowly patting her on the back.

Some devil must possess her to seek comfort in _his_ arms, but Jaime will be the last one to deny her at this point. He already feared he’d have to gag her to make her come with him in silence. After all, Littlefinger refined the arts of manipulation a long time ago.

Not to mention that Jaime knows that he himself is not really the person Sansa has much reason to trust in. She knows that he was the one who pushed her little brother out the window back in Winterfell, after he confessed to her – and he always reckoned that the girl was simply smart enough to see that she could trust Brienne, and simply accepted him along the way.

So no, this is by no means the reaction Jaime anticipated.

The Stark women still tend to surprise him.

Perhaps the next generation of Starks can make him reconsider on the clan, but _just_ perhaps.

She pulls away at once, searching his eyes, “I feared you’d never come. I feared that… that something happened to Lady Brienne. Or did it? Back on the ship… please tell me that she did not…”

“She’s well. But for now, we have to get you out of here, alright? We have to be quick about it, though. Everything else will have to wait until later,” Jaime mutters, his eyes nervously checking the surroundings.

“For as long as you get me out,” Sansa smiles nervously, close to tears, but then gathers herself. “What do we do?”

All this time she waited.

And all this time she already felt like giving up.

That Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne wouldn’t ever come.

Yet, here he is!

She wasn’t forgotten after all.

Sansa wasn’t forgotten.

She is Sansa Stark – and as such she was remembered.

Not Alayne.

But Sansa.

“Wrap yourself in the warmest cloak you have, and then we get out of here. We have no time to lose,” Jaime replies, nervously looking around before quickly grabbing one of the wooden stools to put under the door in all silence – seemingly not to alarm the men out the door. Sansa nods, hurrying over to the wooden chest with her clothes, glad to find the heavy coat with fur almost on top. She warps herself in it, searching Jaime’s eyes again.

“Alright, we’ll go over the roof,” Jaime says, already moving back over to the window.

“The roof?” she frowns.

“It’s a bit of a signature move Brienne and I developed, or so it seems,” Jaime shrugs, hopping out of the window, extending his left hand to her. Sansa accepts gratefully, stepping outside into the brisk wind and snow, dipped in the darkness of the night.

Jaime guides her over the roof wordlessly. Their steps as silent as they can, shuffling over the roof. Once they reach the edge, Sansa can see a small ladder. Jaime climbs down first, checking the area around them, before gesturing at her to come down, too. Sansa climbs, feeling her breath hard and frantic, but curiously… _lighter_.

Once she is down the ladder, Jaime takes her by the wrist to guide her over to the woods close by. At some point, Sansa still expects to wake up sweat-soaked from yet another dreamish escape that only succeeded insider that very realm insider her head. Yet, here she is, in the darkness of the woods, and suddenly… the hot breath from a horse’s nostrils, like a flash of white light in the darkness.

Sansa runs her gloved hand over the mare’s forehead.

“What are we going to do now?” Sansa asks.

“Well, the _plan_ would actually be to send off the horses _this_ way for matters of distraction, then walk further into the woods to where we have our other horses… and then get the hell out of here,” Jaime says, licking his lips, turning back and forth on the heel.

“But?” she frowns.

“ _But_ … that was _Brienne’s_ part of the plan, not mine. She’s told me to ride off as soon as I got you, but, ugh… to tell the truth, I would rather make sure they don’t get her after all,” Jaime grimaces.

“Where _is_ she?” Sansa frowns.

“Why? Didn’t you see her beating the men up?” Jaime chuckles. Sansa gapes, her mind racing back to the common hall, the people made of water, and the tall man with black hair who taught them all to fly.

“You are not the only one who knows how to dye one’s hair,” he says, nodding at the black hair she wears at present. “She was supposed to distract Baelish and make him send you to the chamber, or get you both to the chamber – then I would have had my dear fun with him. Now’s the question if she comes out of the situation without Littlefinger seeing through the trick. He knows her after all… Rescue missions are more dangerous than I would want them to be.”

* * *

Two days before:

“… The inn is the last chance we’ll get before they reach Winterfell. It’s lucky for us that there is this snow storm. The problem is that he has an entire entourage with him, one we cannot overpower with just us two – and possibly a number of common folks who’ll jump to Baelish’s coins he will toss out to seek the swords or fists as well, willing to take us down in his name,” Jaime mutters, glancing out the tiny window of the chamber that allows view on the inn where Littlefinger and Sansa sought refuge.

“And then there are the Boltons and those who’ve turned to them as well…”

They have been discussing and fighting over the matter of Sansa’s rescue – or rather the attempt – ever since they caught up to them and tracked them down to this inn. While the journey there was ever the tougher and demanding due to the tough weather conditions, it brought that one advantage, which was that Littlefinger was forced to stop by in inns and only got to pass from town to town.

That still didn't change anything about the fact that even with only a few yards between them, Sansa is still incredibly far out of their reach.

Which leaves them to stare out the window – and argue.

“I know all that. We already said it all. The best we can do is to sneak in and get her out, steal her away,” Brienne grimaces thoughtfully.

She doesn't like it by any means. She is always up for honest fight – but at this point, stealing away seems to be the only option. Jaime said it often enough until she had to grasp it herself.

As Brienne had to learn, the world isn’t a chivalrous one, and some people’s honor won’t change the world’s course. Just like she knows that saving Sansa means sacrifices.

“Which is ever the more a pity because I want to cut off Littlefinger’s little fingers to force them down his throat before I open it with a knife,” Jaime growls low in his throat.

The mere thought that he may have to let Littlefinger walk makes him sick to the stomach – and his fist clench to the point that he can feel his nails feeling crescents in his palm.

After what he did to them.

After he almost killed almost all of his family.

“Jaime, you know that we should try to bypass killing him at present, for Lady Sansa’s sake.”

“Now don’t tell me that you don’t want to thrust a sword through his belly!” he grunts, turning around to look at her.

“There are many things I’d want to do to him, but we cannot and we must not.”

She bites her lower lip. It’d be a lie to say that she does not have those dark feelings deep in the pit of her stomach, creeping up to her eyes by night to give her vivid images of what she’d do to Littlefinger if she had a chance.

“How can you stay so calm, by the Gods?! If we were more, we’d just go in there, take out his watchdogs, and then murder him slowly before taking Sansa away with us,” Jaime mutters.

“I am not calm by any chance,” Brienne argues, her voice slightly shaking. Jaime flashes a sympathetic look for a moment.

It must be cabin fever that’s making him antsy. Normally, he knows better than that, but it's during those moments that Jaime wishes his right hand back to take the man apart with all of his former expertise.

“He will have men gathered about himself to protect him. There’s no way of stealing Sansa like that. And I bet he’ll have his men instructed that in case something were to happen to him, they are supposed to alarm the men in Winterfell and chase us – and they might manage,” Brienne goes on, setting her jaw.

They kept having those discussions again and again, mulling over every option, every way, to the point that they echo the other person’s words to somehow reassure each other of the truth of them. Jaime said the same thing only just yesterday night, but the longer they stare out the window, the darker and the riskier other thoughts become.

“That man deserves worse than what he’ll get,” Jaime shakes his head, turning back around to the window, leaning his arm against the sill, and his forehead against his sleeve.

“For now,” Brienne then says, making him turn to her with a frown yet again, “Hm?”

“For now. He gets away _for now_ ,” Brienne tells him, her eyes fixed on Jaime.

“Under the premise that we get Sansa, you and I both know that her safety will take precedence. That means we will have to keep away from him and his men for as long as we can until we got her someplace safe. So there’s no sweet revenge for us any time soon,” Jaime argues. “That’s the price we’ll have to pay.”

“I know all that, but I also know that there are worse ways to punish a person than by taking his or her life,” Brienne argues.

“Oh, are there? I thought death was the most _absolute_ solution,” Jaime huffs, if amused.

“That man has no honor, so he doesn't deserve an honorable death,” Brienne says, licking her lips.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Jaime snorts with a sly smile.

Jaime knows that he himself is already a man with an honor beyond repair, but Littlefinger was seemingly born without an ounce of it.

“And that is what we’d give him with a quick thrust of the sword,” Brienne goes on.

“Indeed, or well, we could surely drag it out a while, twist it around in the belly a little bit,” Jaime replies, gesturing with his left.

And the Gods know how many nights he twisted the knife in Littlefinger’s belly, to see all the bad blood spill out of him, painting the little mockingbird on his lapel red.

“If you want someone to suffer the most, you have to take from him what he values most. The things he loves. The things he can’t bear without,” Brienne goes on, now turning her gaze away from Jaime.

“My, my, Brienne, aren’t we having dark thoughts? I thought that was more of _my_ niche,” Jaime chuckles.

Truly, he didn’t even think she was capable of having such a thought. If at all, he thought her to dream it, but not to actually _say_ such a thing, or rather, _mean_ it.

“He did Lady Sansa harm, he did you and Gurion harm, Lord Tyrion and Podrick… and… me… He’s supposed to suffer for that. It’s mere chance that I didn’t lose Gurion back on that ship. And it was one of _his_ men who hit me in the stomach. It was _his_ men who would’ve killed your brother and young Podrick. It was _his_ men who stole Lady Sansa against her will. It was him who made me the culprit for a crime I never would have committed, forcing Gurion and all the other people we care about into a way too dangerous life in dangerous times anyway. That is enough to me,” Brienne tells him, her voice shaking with anger.

“So? How do we hurt Baelish – if not by twisting a knife in his belly?” Jaime asks.

The same question again and again.

Brienne silences for a moment, but then something flashes across her face that Jaime can’t put his finger on. He looks at her, blinking.

“How do you hurt a king?” Brienne questions, glancing back up to him, her eyes shining with something dark that Jaime didn’t even think was possible in Brienne’s blue eyes.

“Hm, as the Kingslayer, I’d say you shove a sword through his back… but usually, it’s to take the crown from him, though Robert probably would have liked that, but he was… a different brand of man anyway,” Jaime shrugs.

“Right. How do you hurt a burglar?” Brienne goes on.

“You take his coins,” he shrugs.

“And how do you hurt a social climber?”

“You make him fall very, very deep,” Jaime says, a dark grin spreading on his face.

“Exactly. He’s climbed the ladder. He’s gotten lands he’s never earned. Already the fact that he won’t be able to deliver Lady Sansa to the Boltons will hurt his reputation – and destroy whatever plan he may have had to strengthen his power in the North.”

“If they don’t get out their oh so sharp knives out, that is,” Jaime exhales.

And what a splendid time that would be – though Jaime still dares to have the selfish wish to deliver the final blow to the man himself.

“He won’t win the North, if we can help it. That leaves him to return to the Eyrie – or King’s Landing. That means, except for the Vale, he’s not gained much of anything… and once it’s safe for Lady Sansa, we can reveal his plot, and then we will see how much higher he can rise without missing his step,” Brienne says. “And fall. Deep.”

“I quite like that,” Jaime grins.

“It might be that we can’t kill him right now, but he shall fall, sooner or later. And he shall fall _deep_. There’s a season for everything, and the Winter will be long, I’m sure. And revenge is cold and unforgiving. We’ll have time for it, we’ll just have to wait for it to arise,” Brienne says in a sinister voice.

“I never thought you had that in you, m’lady,” Jaime can’t help but muse.

“Then you were mistaken. That man will suffer, I swear it, but for now, we have to get Lady Sansa, so we’ll have to let that go, _for now_ ,” Brienne repeats.

Just for now.

That man has to be brought to justice.

It just has to wait.

“But the time will come that we get our revenge.”

“Right.”

“That still doesn’t buy us a ticket to Sansa. Littlefinger will watch her like a hawk. It’ll be hard to separate them. The problem is that he knows both our faces. That fact remains, no matter how we twist or turn it,” Jaime argues, contemplating again.

The plan far away is fine, but it doesn’t change a thing about the present situation. And therein lies the problem.

“I know,” she grimaces, biting her lower lip as she glances over to the inn again.

That is where it all fails. She can think a few steps ahead, but the ones right now prove to be the most difficult task.

Because whatever step they take now will inevitably determine the next steps.

It’s all up in the air – in stormy Northern air.

“Well, we can’t attack them from the front, and stealing through the back will be difficult if we can’t get her alone at some point. Even if we killed Baelish in his sleep, I bet he has his men instructed for such cases. Not to mention that I believe he has one of his men in his room at all times. We’d need a moment of distraction,” Jaime mutters. “But how?”

“… Chaos,” Brienne whispers.

“Right,” Jaime nods. “But the kind of chaos we can control somehow… And that’s the difficult thing…”

“What about… Danny Flint?”

Jaime turns back to her, his eyes widening once his mind comprehends the plan the wench’s bred out at once, or so it seems. He steps over to her with fast strides, waving his index finger, “What? No, no, no, get that right out of your head, _no_!”

“What? The idea is not almost bad. I could distract them so you can get Lady Sansa,” Brienne argues stubbornly.

And Jaime can already see the idea manifest itself inside her thick skull.

“You are aware that brave young Danny Flint who’s taken the Black, pretending to be a man, was raped and killed in the end?” Jaime reminds her.

“And _you_ know that we are not on the Wall, and that they wouldn’t do such a thing in such a situation,” Brienne argues. “Just like it’s no more than a song.”

“Brienne, Baelish knows your voice, he knows your face. He knows your hair. Do you sincerely believe that man forgets another person’s face? That’s part of his capital – that he does not,” Jaime tries to convince her with vehemence.

He can’t do that, no.

“He knows me as a mannish woman in armor, tagging after Renly and Lady Catelyn. If I don't talk to him, avert my gaze, and dress like a man, I could start a fight in the common room once they are there, something like that,” Brienne insists.

“He knows your face. He knows your eyes.”

“No one cares about my eyes,” Brienne huffs.

“Well, I do,” Jaime replies, to which she rolls her eyes at him.

“You should be aware of the fact that your features are quite _distinct_ nonetheless,” Jaime adds, trying to bring her to reason.

“Not if I _really_ act like a man. I’d have more trouble to pretend to be a womanly woman, you know that. A mannish man doesn’t stick out. A mannish woman does. That’s our best chance,” she argues. “Just like we have better chances to disguise me as a man than you as a woman.”

“I would doubt that. I daresay I would still pass for a better-looking woman than you…,” he means to say, only to earn himself a smack in the side that leaves him gasping for air, “I deserved that one.”

“You did.”

Jaime gathers himself, trying another time, “If you want to go with such a distraction, we would probably still have better chances to make _me_ distract him.”

“If we want to force him to send Lady Sansa away, we have to come close to him. He’s known you for years. He’ll recognize you at once,” Brienne argues.

“I can keep my face out of his sight better than you can, I’m sure.”

“Then tell me how he won’t see this,” she points at his stump.

“Now, that’s unfair!” Jaime cries out.

“You know that I’m right,” Brienne insists, but Jaime only shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous. He’ll recognize you. He’ll take you. So what do I do even if I managed to get Sansa in the meantime? Which is no guarantee that I would?”

“Bring her someplace safe, like we both promised to Lady Catelyn,” Brienne tells him resolutely.

Of course she does.

Always out for playing heroine.

“I won’t let you endanger yourself like that,” Jaime shakes his head. “No. Just no.”

“You’ll have to,” Brienne argues.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ _Brienne_.”

“Now please, listen to me,” Brienne says with sudden urgency, grasping his wrist.

“I _am_ listening.”

“It's the best we can do, and deep down you know that it’s the truth I’m telling you,” Brienne goes on, her voice now almost soothing.

“Your acting is about just awful,” Jaime reminds her.

“I _know_ , but gladly, not much acting would be needed.”

“Still enough to start a fight. Still enough to maybe speak to Baelish if he asked you and to come up with a swift lie on the spot. There are a million things that could happen that may force you to tell a lie at once to somehow steal out of the situation. A million things might happen where even a lie is not enough. It is too dangerous for you,” Jaime argues, swatting down in front of her to meet her gaze.

No, just no, not after he just got her back.

“You give me the story, and I will tell it.”

“What now?”

“I can tell a story once I’ve heard it or read it. If you tell me the lies, which I believe you can with ease, I can tell them, too.”

“Is that a compliment, really?” Jaime laughs.

“It's an observation,” Brienne shrugs her shoulders.

“Brienne,” he exhales, but she interrupts him, “You know that I’m right. We don't have much time to prepare more than we already did. The storm will pass – and they will move to Winterfell. We have to act, _now_. Everything else means more danger.”

He looks at her for a long moment, trying to come up with a better alternative, a way that doesn't put her in as much danger, sings of another song than that of young Danny Flint…

But he finds none.

“… We’ll dye your hair. I don't know if your Danny Flint’s ever had the idea, but it seemed to work for Sansa,” Jaime says after a long while. “We may work it to our advantage that your hair has grown quite a bit since he’s last seen you.”

He runs his fingers through the straw-like mane that now ends just about her chin.

“Alright,” Brienne nods eagerly – and if not for the sincerity of the situation, Jaime would laugh at her eagerness.

But he can’t laugh at that.

For that, the melody of Danny Flint, the solemn tone, rings too threateningly in his ears. Not because he fears that the exact same thing will happen, but that something unexpected happens, like it does in the song, something that will leave Brienne out in the open, and with him not there to be by her side.

“You mustn’t search his eyes. You mustn’t look at them too long. You have to ignore them, or rather, you have to let it look like you don’t even see them.”

“Yes.”

“You mustn’t hesitate. If you want to start a brawl with the men in the inn, you have to seize the moment at once, curse one of their names and simply attack, there’s no time for titles or for words of apology, you have to be as foulmouthed as a sailor to make them jump you – because you need to draw the attention away from you, and that only works if you manage to get a lot of men fighting at once.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t think we should handle it like that,” Jaime shakes his head.

No, just no.

“What else are we supposed to do?” Brienne argues.

“I’d rather go on my own,” Jaime shrugs.

“Same here,” Brienne replies. Jaime presses his finger against her palm.

He knows that he is not the only one not wanting to risk what is still so fragile – and worth so much to him that he can barely think of its dimensions.

“I can’t afford to lose you, you understand?” Jaime says, searching her eyes.

“… Then we better make sure that you don’t,” Brienne replies, trying to sound certain, though both know she is not.

Yet, it does not matter.

They have to rely on each other.

Be my armor.

Shield me, but hidden.

And I shall be your sword.

“That sounds surprisingly enthusiastic coming from you,” Jaime chuckles sadly.

“I have had fights before, you know that the best. I know how to do that,” Brienne tries to reassure him – and herself as well.

“Just that you have to make sure you get out of the brawl before Littlefinger gets a good enough look at you. Baelish might be fooled for a short moment, but not for long.”

“Then I should better do my job outright,” Brienne shrugs.

“You better should,” he agrees. “You better learn to tell that story I’m about to give you, full of lies and bad language, ay?”

He kisses her softly, but with need of contact, to somehow reassure himself of the chance that may lie out that window. Jaime pulls away after a long moment to press his forehead against hers, pulling her to him.

One of the hardest parts of loving this woman is the fact that she always puts herself in danger.

* * *

 _Hear you now the sad lament_  
Of Brave Young Danny Flint   
Whose parents died of sickness   
When she was not but ten.

 _So off Young Danny went to live_  
With her wicked uncle   
Who one night stole her maidenhead   
So into the North she fled.

 _Oh Danny Flint you'll never escape_  
The Fate the Gods have written   
And life must seem the cruelest jape   
Oh Brave Young Danny Flint.

 _North she fled to take the Black_  
And leave her troubles past   
She cut her hair and changed her name   
To Danny Flint the Brave.

 _At the Night Fort Danny took the oath_  
Thought a boy by all   
And she hoped to live forever   
As a Brother upon the Wall.

 _Oh Danny Flint you'll never escape_  
The Fate the Gods have written   
And life must seem the cruelest jape   
Oh Brave Young Danny Flint.

 _Now Danny was so diligent_  
To keep from watchful stares   
But one night as she bathed   
Her Brothers saw her body bare.

 _These men were quick to break their vows_  
As they threw her to the ground   
They took her honor then her life   
While Danny made not a sound.

 _Oh Danny Flint there's no escape_  
The Fate the Gods have written   
And life does seem the cruelest jape   
Oh Brave Young Danny Flint.

 _It is said Young Danny still yet walks_  
The Night Fort's shadowy halls   
A pale form singing sorrowfully   
The loneliest, saddest song.

* * *

 

Jaime bites his lower lip.

He should have said no.

He shouldn’t have let Brienne take over that part.

He should be in there right now.

If Brienne becomes anything close to a Danny Flint, he will rip the world apart.

“So? Do we ride? It’s your choice, Sansa,” Jaime asks, not looking at the young girl, fearing that he will only end up pressuring her, but before he can say anything else, he can hear Sansa’s small yet surprisingly resolute voice, “We’ll wait.”

“Well, let’s hope she won’t keep us waiting much longer,” Jaime mutters, his eyes fixed on the inn.

Please, Brienne.

You can’t become another Danny Flint.

That can’t be your song. Yours should be a heroic one to sing to Gurion.

“C’mon now.”

Both glance at the inn nervously, but that is when a tall figure stumbles around the corner, coming from the back of the inn.

“Is that…”

“That’s her,” Jaime nods frantically, his heart suddenly beating so loudly in his ears that it muffles all other sounds.

Thank the Gods.

No Danny Flint.

He waves his arm around in the air once, and the tall figure picks up speed to hurry over to the rim of the woods.

“You were supposed to take off,” Brienne growls at him once she approaches.

Of course she does…

“Lady Sansa _insisted_ that we wait, what was I supposed to do?” Jaime argues innocently. “Deny the Lady? You can’t mean for that.”

“Lady Sansa, I’m so sorry for what happened, I…,” Brienne means to apologize, but Sansa takes her hand, squeezing it hard. “You came. That’s all that matters.”

Brienne just looks at her, perfectly stunned.

“Let’s leave the great feelings aside for now and get moving,” Jaime grimaces, taking the horses by the reins, walking further outside before clapping each one on the back to make them run down the road.

“C’mon now.”

They start to run through the woods, the snow creaking under their steps.

“Why didn't we take _these_ horses?” Sansa asks, still trying to wrap her head around all this.

First Ser Jaime stepping into her room as though he was a ghost.

Then Lady Brienne appearing to her as a man with black hair.

And now they don't ride off into the night?

This is so strange.

“By now, Baelish might check on you. They’ll find the door locked. He’ll send them out to go looking for you. First thing they’ll do is to check for footprints – and those of horse hooves. If we are lucky, they’ll chase the wrong direction for a while. It’s better than nothing, or so we reckoned,” Jaime shrugs. “We didn’t have much time to prepare… and limited resources.”

They reach a small clearing where two horses appear at once again.

“I bet some folks will be disappointed that we stole their mares, but I think they’ll find their way back home. You’ll have to share with Brienne. It’s better with just two horses for now. They’d expect us to have one for you as well, so it might buy us time, too,” Jaime goes on.

“I see,” Sansa nods quickly.

“Their horses won’t get far anyways.”

“Why?” Sansa frowns.

“We gave them some things to eat before we went inside the inn. The horses won’t take damage, they’ll just… sleep a lot,” Jaime shrugs with a sly smile.

If the Tyrells can do that with crows, then why can’t they do the same with horses, right?

“By the time they might get on our track, we have good chances that the snow will have swallowed our traces,” Brienne goes on to explain as she helps Sansa into the saddle.

“We found a vacant cabin further up north. It hasn’t been used in years. We hope that they will think us smart enough not to go into a house for refuge, but instead search for caves and the like, as we did all the while before when still further down South. We will have to do without fire, however, or else we’d draw them to us by chance, I fear,” Jaime warns the young woman, who only flashes a small but bright smile, “That’s fine.”

She’d sleep in cold and heat alike for as long as that meant she gets out of this place.

Creature of the North, ay?” Jaime chuckles, before he spurs the hose. Brienne does the same, to make the mares gallop through the terrain.

Lucky for them, they could use the preparation time to ride the horses through the narrow woods again and again, which means the horses know the path better. Hence they are much swifter to ride through the narrow spaces and ups and downs of the earth.

“What took you so long?” Jaime questions as they make their way through the woods.

“… I was held up by Baelish,” Brienne replies, her jaws barely moving apart as she speaks.

“You _talked_ to him?” Jaime gapes.

“Only a few words in passing. He told me to stop this folly, if I knew what was good for me. I told him that I was finished with the man anyways, and turned back around to the crowd. One of the man’s friends tried to get fast revenge on me, but he didn’t really stand a chance. He didn’t even know how to swing his arm correctly,” Brienne shakes her head. “After that I sneaked through the backdoor. I waited. No one’s went to check on me immediately.”

Though Brienne can’t really say that she felt as certain in the inn. Her heart was hammering in her chest so loudly that she could barely hear the men singing and hollering out of tune.

Just like it was much more challenging than she dared to imagine to start a brawl with the man she had picked as a target – just like picking him as a target was cruel enough, for he had done her no wrong.

Jaime had warned her again and again, as he kept taking her through the situation, kept telling her the story she was supposed to tell now, but it wasn’t anything like it until she sat next to the man and had to attack him, shout at him, and actually… enact it.

And Brienne still doesn’t know how she ever made it out of the inn without giving away her game. She is not good at lying or at acting.

Yet, it somehow worked.

For now, at least.

Sansa glances back at the inn, seeing torches in the wind, small flickers that soon fade away in the snow, but then turns her face ahead, feeling the snow slapping against her face.

And finding it… thrilling and soothing all the same.

Eventually, they reach the place Jaime told her about.  

It’s a small cabin, the wood all ramshackle, grey and green, the door halfway out of its hinges, banging against the doorframe in the snow storm, but to tell the truth, Sansa has never seen a place so full of hope as this shabby cabin.

Jaime and Brienne lead in the horses into the small cabin as well.

“For the heat – and because we don’t want anyone to hear their noises carry through the woods. Just like there is apparently no proper stable,” Jaime explains to her. Brienne closes the door behind them with what looks like a new plank that they likely brought along to secure the door.

“Good for us, this place has a backdoor. That means if we see them coming, we don't have to go through the front,” Jaime further points out to Sansa, who took one of the small stools to sit upon in one of the corner of the small, now fairly cramped cabin.

“One should think that a storm is a bad omen, but this proves to be a wink of fate for once. I thought we’d have them chasing us all at once,” Jaime grimaces, glancing out the window which only has narrow slits to look through because of the planks nailed on it.

“They might still come,” Brienne argues.

She still fears that her plan will go up in flames, or snow, for the matter. Brienne knows she isn’t the smartest tactician – and their plan was risky at best. They have Sansa for now, but they are nowhere close to a safe place to keep her.

Their plan is such a fragile thing…

“Of course, but… maybe we get lucky after all,” Jaime shrugs.

They made it to this very point, right? Why not further?

“Maybe,” Brienne grimaces.

Sansa tilts her head at the two, her mind still catching up to… everything, to this very moment.

To her, it feels as though a chapter suddenly ended, a completely new book was opened before her to read.

Brienne looks at her for a longer moment, her hands nervously flexing as she tries to come up with the words.

If only talking wouldn’t be as difficult as it still proves to be for her.

One act as some sort of Danny Flint doesn’t eradicate years of not getting her jaws apart.

And it’s still not out yet if her act played out at all.

“Lady Sansa, I, uhm… I never meant to disappoint you back on that ship. I wanted to bring you to Tarth, no matter what Littlefinger may have said to you about it. I wanted to get you to safety, that’s all I ever wanted. I… I never meant for this. I never meant you harm – and I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me for failing to protect you, I…,” she stutters, fidgeting for the words that are somehow blown out of her mind, since they all revolve around the fact that Lady Sansa is here with them right at this instant.

That this is real.

“He said to me that you just wanted to do that for reasons of money and the like,” Sansa nods.

“That isn’t true. I… I know you have no reason to believe us, but I would have sailed to Tarth with you, in the hope to give you a stable and safe place to stay at for however long you wished. That’s all I wanted, that’s all we ever wanted,” Brienne insists.

“What of your child? Is it… did something happen to it? On the ship, I thought…,” Sansa bites her lower lip.

“Gurion is in best health, and with your husband,” Jaime tells her quickly.

“My… my _husband_? Lord Tyrion is alive?” Sansa gapes.

“He and Pod, yes,” Jaime replies. Sansa touches her chest with her gloved hand, “I thought they had them killed. Lord Baelish said that he had them ordered to kill them. He said they tossed them into the sea.”

“And that is what they tried to do, but one should never underestimate a Lannister, or a Payne for the matter,” Jaime grimaces.

“Lord Tyrion is alright… and Podrick as well… I can’t believe that. All this time I thought… all this time…,” Sansa mutters, the words dying on her lips.

All this time she thought she damned another person who’s personally done her no harm, who’s tried to help her, and was one of the few people who opened his mouth to Joffrey’s cruel treatment. Sansa thought that she just kept attracting all that evil to herself – only to emit it out to other people, leaving even more chaos.

But if Lord Tyrion and Podrick are alive… then maybe… there is hope after all?

“He never meant to trick you either,” Jaime goes on.

“He always treated me kindly, even when it endangered him… back when Joffrey still sat the Throne and could do as he pleased… I couldn’t ever really believe that he meant me nothing but harm,” Sansa tells him.

She may be dull at times – and she may not be able to read people the way Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime, or Lord Baelish can for instance, but Sansa knows kindness when she is treated with such, at least she does so now.

“Well, we’re quite relieved to hear that. To tell the truth, we feared that you’d reject our assistance – and follow Baelish’s commands instead,” Jaime grimaces.

“I did. I… I didn’t act against him. I thought that I had no other way but to obey him,” Sansa says, biting her lower lip.

“Lady Sansa, you did what was necessary to ensure your safety,” Brienne assures her quickly, seeing the young woman’s distress.

“He even got me to say that he didn’t kill my aunt, which is what he did… which is what she tried to do,” Sansa says, the words suddenly just spilling out of her.

After she silenced about so many things, the words just keep flowing out of her.

“Why would she… want to kill you?” Jaime blinks at her, taken aback.

“She was jealous. She thought Lord Baelish and I were…,” Sansa means to say, but then hesitates, so Jaime asks again, “Were what?”

“In love.”

“I always knew Lysa was a rather… skittish mind, but that’s…,” Jaime shakes his head, but Sansa suddenly goes on rambling, “He gave me a kiss. That’s what she saw. I pushed him away at once, but I reckon she didn’t see that anymore, or bothered to care. So when he’s convinced her to let me go, he… he pushed her through the moon door. But I was afraid of telling the truth. I was afraid that… I don't even know what in particular I was scared of. I was just afraid. Just… afraid.”

“There’s no shame in that,” Jaime assures her with a grimace.

To think that he’d find himself in a position where he wouldn’t just risk his life in a mission to fulfill a vow to Catelyn Stark, but to actually comfort a Stark girl… it’s still an odd tale Brienne and he seem to have rewritten.

“Isn’t there? I could’ve… I could’ve told them, but I did not. I kept it to myself. I don’t even know why I did it,” Sansa shakes her head.

Why didn't she just say it? That question kept her awake at night more often than she’d like to admit.

“Because it wasn’t unsmart to do that,” Jaime shrugs.

“It was not? I felt like a fool once it was over and it dawned on me that he’s had any plan to sell me off to the Boltons, the _Boltons_ of all people.”

“Well, that is something you couldn’t really know at that instant. What you knew was how influential Baelish is. The best way to ensure that he did you no harm was to appear valuable to him, and that is what you did by keeping that… secret. And how would you know that the other folks of the Eyrie would have treated you the way they should? Maybe Lysa instructed them without anyone’s knowledge? That woman, in her crazy head, still managed to cause quite global trouble,” Jaime shrugs.

Sansa looks at him stunned, sad, and happy all the same. A strange kind of grimace even in dim moonlight, though Jaime reckons that an avalanche of emotions must be sweeping through her at present anyway.

“All this time… I had already given up, you see? I had… I had given up. I didn’t think anyone would come find me. For all I knew, you were probably dead, too, and even if not, lost in grief over the child’s loss… or… I don’t even know what I thought. I just know that I gave up. After Aunt Lysa died… I gave up completely. I… I thought everyone had forgotten about me. I thought I’d have to be this girl with black hair for the rest of my life… but… but then _you_ came.”

“We wanted to come earlier, we really did,” Brienne says, her voice shaking with emotion.

If only they had come sooner.

If only…

“I didn't mean that in such a way. I am grateful, you see? I mean…,” Sansa tells her quickly.

“Lady Sansa, there’s no need, truly,” Brienne shakes her head.

“But I _am_. I… now that I see you here in the flesh I realized it once more. You had no obligation to ride after me. You could’ve fled with your child to someplace safe – and it would have been your good right. _Still_ , you came for me. Still, you held on to that promise you made to my family once. Ever since I came to King’s Landing, I had to see that chivalry and promises don’t mean as much in this world as I had envisioned in my girlish mind. But still… you intend to keep your promises. And for that I’m grateful. This means a lot to me, more than words can say indeed,” Sansa insists.

Brienne lowers her gaze, trying to keep her emotions in check.

Now is not the time. She has to be on alert.

They are not out of danger. Not yet.

“May I ask you a question?” Jaime turns to Sansa after a long moment of silence.

“Of course,” Sansa nods.

“Does Baelish know about our child?”

“I did not tell him a single word, I swear it,” the young girl assures him quickly.

“And I’m grateful for it, but didn’t the news reach him?” Jaime goes on to question, his eyes drifting between outside and inside, checking for a searching party to arrive.

“He’s never mentioned it to me. That’s all I can say. Why do you ask?” Sansa tilts her head.

“It’s always better to know what the enemy knows,” Jaime shrugs. “At least that is what my brother used to tell me. And he is the wisest of the bunch.”

“I reckon Lord Baelish will have heard rumors if there were any,” Sansa shrugs.

“There surely were,” Jaime huffs.

“None of which I was told,” Sansa argues.

“It’s strategically the best he could do, to keep you in suspense about us,” Jaime replies.

“So that I’d… lose hope,” Sansa completes slowly.

Because people without hope don’t try to run away.

“Right.”

“Well, then I’m glad that I did not, for it was right to hope,” Sansa replies with a small smile.

“We’re not off the hook yet. In fact, we are still treading very dangerous terrain, so close to Winterfell – and hence Bolton’s men, and with Baelish’s men still breathing into our neck,” Jaime grimaces, wrinkling his nose.

“But we put some good distance between us and them,” Sansa argues.

“And Baelish proved to get us even when we thought we were already out of the woods,” Jaime huffs.

One successful turn on the tale of Danny Flint won’t ensure that they can make this a happy ending story.

The ship that sailed from King’s Landing proved it to them all way too painfully.

“Then what will we do? Where do we go from here?” Sansa asks nervously.

Does that mean there is no way after all?

“Well, our plan is to bring you to the Wall, to your half-brother,” Jaime tells her.

“To Jon?”

“That one. Well, we cut our way off down South for the moment. Baelish will likely send message to his men in the Eyrie and other forces he surely managed to gather in the meantime, and they will be prepared for us to come. We also have to suspect that he somehow learns that the Tyrells helped us a great deal, hence Highgarden is also off the list. Once you are on the Wall, Baelish is powerless. He won’t bring it to shake and crumble, or even to quiver,” Jaime shrugs.

“We would’ve loved to return you home, but… with the Boltons holding Winterfell… there is no chance for us at present,” Brienne tells her apologetically.

Brienne would truly like to conquer entire Winterfell back – if that meant safety for Lady Sansa in any way, but at present… they have no means. They have no army. Just themselves, some horses, and shaking faith in success.

“This is not home, not for as long as their banners with flayed men whip in the winds, but… but what will come of it once I am on Castle Black? I mean…,” Sansa asks, her voice trailing off.

This is no place for frail maidens, or so her father and mother always told her, for Winter is Coming.

“That’s the best we can do right now, even though we are aware that this is not the most favorable place for a young woman like you. And surely, this arrangement is not meant to last forever. But… I’d love to tell you an exact plan, but I fear the past experiences have proven us quite painfully that even a carefully framed plan can turn to ashes for just a single circumstance changed,” Jaime argues. “We dare not plan too far ahead at this point.”

“We’re taking one step at a time. The first is to know you safe. And you’ll be safe with your half-brother, for he will mean you no harm surely,” Brienne adds.

“And what of Lord Tyrion, and Podrick… and, uhm, Gurion?” Sansa asks.

“They are currently roaming the area around the Vale, off the usual paths. At least that was the original plan, but it may be all different now anyways…,” Jaime grimaces, his voice drifting off.

“For what reason?” Sansa frowns.

“It’s not for certain, that is the thing,” he says quickly. He better shouldn’t have said anything.

“What is it? Please, tell me, I… I can’t bear any more secrets, I just…,” Sansa stammers.

She is just so fed up being lied to.

She is fed up being left out.

She wants to know, even the uncomfortable truths. Sansa tried to live a lie when she believed that Joffrey truly loved her. She tried to live the lie that Lord Baelish wanted nothing but her best. But if Sansa learned one small thing from all the terror she’s lived through, then it is that not knowing is very dangerous. Just like it leaves you motionless.

And Sansa is truly fed up being motionless, voiceless.

“We ran into your sister back by the Eyrie, short before the Bloody Gate,” Brienne tells her.

“You, you… you’ve seen Arya? Arya lives?” Sansa gapes.

Gods be good.

They don’t mean to trick her, do they?

No, not them, they wouldn’t, would they?

“She’s very well alive – and still a wild thing, I daresay. She’s cut me quite well with her little Braavosi blade,” Jaime chuckles. “Needle she called it, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Brienne nods, her voice no more than a whisper, the wound still fresh that they may have made a fatal mistake with the youngest Stark daughter.

“Arya lives. Arya… _lives_ … Gods be good, that isn’t just a cruel jape, is it? I mean, so much fortune at once?” Sansa just looks at the two with wide eyes, kneading her gloved fingers.

“ _Fortune_? You are aware that we are currently on the run?” Jaime huffs.

Leave it to the young girls to think of such a situation as anything close to hopeful.

“But your child is alive and safely in this world. Lord Tyrion is alive. Podrick is alive. And now I hear that Arya’s alive, too. What is this but a fortune? I thought she was dead. That’s what everyone told me. I thought she came too much after Father after all, even following him into the realm of the dead, but… but… then I still don’t get it how that makes it all different?”

“We don’t know if she ever reached my brother,” Jaime explains.

“Why?”

“We chased after you straight away. We would have lost too much time to intercept you before you reach Winterfell, had we escorted her to my brother. We had to make a choice, so we paid the Hound, who’s travelled with her, to escort her to Tyrion, but… if they followed through with it and went to see my brother? We can’t tell. We haven’t exchanged news with my brother ever since we left, fearing it too dangerous to send a raven. Birds can easily be shot from the sky,” Jaime exhales.

And while that once was his fortune back in King’s Landing, Jaime knows that this chapter doesn’t have to repeat itself in the same way – and actually, in favor of what he considers the villains of the tale… or in fact, just one villain amongst even more villains.

If that makes him a hero of such a tale – Jaime is more than doubtful of the matter, but he cares less about the heroism of the act for as long as it means the safety of those he wants to see protected.

“So it might be that Arya is gone with Ser Sandor?” Sansa concludes.

Yet another person she never thought she’d hear of again.

The world seemingly turns much faster than she thought it would, because for Sansa, the world stood still ever since they travelled North towards Winterfell, but as it appears, there was so much in motion, so much on the move, and Sansa just hopes that she can somehow keep up with it.

She _has_ to.

“As I said, we had to make a choice at some point. And that seemed the only one that made sense. Or else either one of us would have been alone on the quest of getting to you,” Jaime goes on. Brienne bites her lower lip.

They have forsaken one vow for the other after all…

She opens her mouth to utter yet another apology, but the words don't come – and before her throat can release any sort of sound, she can hear Sansa speaking up.

“Well… I… at least she’s alive, right? That’s more than I ever dared to believe possible,” Sansa says with a crooked smile.

She thought she was dead.

But Arya is alive.

She is alive.

She still has family, somewhere out there. Jon and Arya.

Brienne looks at her solemnly. She doesn’t know where Lady Sansa takes that much strength from, to be honest. To be hopeful when she’d have any reason to be furious with them for not… managing more, for not doing more.

“So… we go to the Wall,” Sansa repeats.

Focus on the immediate next steps, right?

Focus on the small hopes.

Small steps.

But forward.

“We go to the Wall,” Jaime nods. “The thing is that if we want to go there, we have to rely on you.”

“Rely on _me_?” Sansa looks at him, aghast.

“You grew up here, you know these lands. I’ve been here when it was still summer. Brienne’s never been here in the first place. You are the only one who can navigate us past Winterfell – and to the Wall,” Jaime says. “Especially because we can’t travel the usual paths.”

“You’d have more luck with Arya to do that. I wasn’t the sort of child that played outside a lot. I stitched and learned my lessons. I… I’m no good out in the wild,” Sansa argues frantically.

“But Arya’s not here. _You_ are here,” Jaime replies.

“I will get us lost,” Sansa shakes her head.

She can’t take such responsibility.

Sansa is used to rely on other people – for better or worse.

She is not used to people relying on her, or rather, putting faith in her to… protect them, is it?

No one’s ever really trusted her to protect someone – Sansa herself didn't either.

And now she is supposed to put that to test on terrain she only looked at from a distance while stitching and learning the proper acts of a lady?

It makes her feel ever the more foolish for having judged Arya for playing outside so often, for knowing every stone and every tree.

“We’ll be even more lost without you, trust me in this,” Jaime insists.

“But…,” Sansa means to say, but he interrupts her, “You grew up here. The North runs in your veins. You’ve travelled these lands, Sansa. You _know_ these places. That you know them from another _angle_ doesn’t mean you can’t tell the way anymore. And even _if_ we get lost, we’ll go back to where we went wrong and start over. The thing is that we can’t go the usual paths at present. That’s all different once we are out of the close periphery of Winterfell, but until then… we need you to guide us.”

“I won’t be any good, I tell you,” Sansa insists.

“Better than Brienne and I would. I’m rather a bit lost than completely lost,” Jaime argues.

“We need your help,” Brienne repeats.

“ _My help_ … no one’s ever asked me for help. And now it comes from the people helping me,” Sansa shakes her head.

The world is such a strange place.

“A good exchange, I’d say,” Jaime winks at her.

They carry on talking after that, in hushed voices, tightly edged together to keep up some of the warmth, discussing the next steps and the former, the ship, the woods, the way up North, meeting Shae. And Gurion. They talk a lot about Gurion – especially because Sansa seems to almost lighten up at the news about the babe. About Arya and the Hound. Massey’s Hook and the Vale.

And Sansa listens eagerly, knowing that she has to learn what happened while the world turned so much faster while hers did not, and finding a strange kind of solace in all the good turns, however small they may be.

Some good chapters to fill the pages with.

Some good chapters to push her back into the story – and ahead, with them.

Some good stanzas for a new kind of song.

In a cabin, dark, ramshackle, grey and green, the hinges screeching in the wind, the snow storm howling, cold and unforgiving.

In a cabin without light.

But, for some strange reason a cabin with a lot of hope.

And by some faint chance, it seems to be the case that their version of the tale of young brave Danny Flint may take another turn than in the songs.


	37. The North Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa try their best to keep off the usual tracks and shake off the searching parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around, and for kudoing and commenting. You are such kind people! 
> 
> I tried my best to make this somewhat authentic in terms of escape - with the techniques Jaime and Brienne use, but it's fiction, so I take some liberties here and there. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy anyway!

After the more than risky endeavor of freeing Sansa with their personal version of the tale of brave young Danny Flint, the three find themselves, yet again, on the run.

Apparently, this will be their very state of existence for a longer time.

While they anticipated the worst case scenario, it’s tougher than they estimated nevertheless, now not only with knights of the Vale closing in on them coming from the South, but also being chased by Bolton men coming from up North.

Jaime reckons that the Bolton man that was supposed to pick up Sansa and Baelish from the inn likely reported back to Winterfell about her disappearance to gather forces for the searching parties. They couldn’t chance to intercept him, because it would have been too close to the usual paths. So Baelish surely told him.

And Jaime still hopes that Littlefinger breathed fire and brimstone once he found out that his Light of the North had passed to a different lantern while he was busy playing his games in the common room. 

Therefore, their days and nights are now filled with hiding in bushes, caves, and stealing away before the Mad Dog’s bloodhounds can get their trail. Thus far, they had almost three run-ins with the men after them. Though that was to be expected since they are now in Winterfell territory, which means that the troops searching for them are much more frequent here than further down South.

The fact that they can’t use the roads further complicates the matter. Though Sansa proved to remember far more than she believed herself capable of, to her honor, they got lost a number of times nevertheless. Yet, they always kept the right direction in the end. And at this point, anything going only just in the right direction is better than nothing. The Wall is gladly not that small, so the general direction is easy enough: North, just North until a massive wall of ice and snow appears.

Just that the way there proves to be much more difficult.

And so they find themselves hiding behind a small mound at present, Winterfell still in their line of sight, and the barking of the bloodhounds their steady companion, lying in the snow, breathing hard – after yet another round of sneaking away from a search troop of dogs. Or rather, purposely setting them on a wrong trail the best they can, while Sansa stays with the horses. It’s perhaps not the best thing to do, but the only thing Jaime and Brienne think they can do at present to somehow offer protection for the Stark daughter.

Just yesterday night they went as far as to steal into a small nearby town and find a bitch in the heat to set free and leave an odor for the bloodhounds to get confused over. That seemed to work, but it’s no guarantee that they won’t pick the trail back up, regardless of the food they also drop in different directions to further distract the dogs.

Brienne, gladly, is very good at throwing very far, and Jaime found a way to use his small crossbow to a similar effect, to toss bundles of meat in all directions of the wind. It’s little, but… not nothing.

Needless to mention that it’s still no guarantee that the searching troops won’t find them. Jaime and Brienne had no illusions about this being not just risky but also very difficult, but they hoped it’d perhaps not be as constant as it is right now. They are low on sleep, rest, and any sort of proper shelter. They can’t hope to find it in the towns – one can never know if the North remembers or long since forgot with the Flayed Man of House Bolton flapping so dangerously over the walls of Winterfell.

“They are some five miles from our location, moving up North from the South. Presumably Baelish’s men,” Jaime says, running his left over his ribs against the stitch in his side. He _does_ have stamina, that’s not it, but at present, they make miles and miles just running back and forth to check for enemies to come get to them, and then they run even further if they can’t take the horses. And that leaves even a trained man breathless.

“And another troop three miles from our location, coming from North-East. I saw Bolton banners,” Brienne says, breathing hard. At present, she can’t afford to wear her armor, safe for the chest plate because it’d make too much noises otherwise.

“So best chances to move North-West, huh?” he concludes with a grimace.

“Seems to be our only chance at present, yes,” Brienne agrees, biting her lower lip in an attempt to control her breathing.

“Here,” Sansa speaks up, holding out a skin to Brienne, offering a small smile. Brienne nods appreciatively before taking a few small sips. “Thank you, Lady Sansa.”

“Well, the least I can do is to keep you hydrated,” Sansa huffs.

“Lady Sansa, please…,” Brienne argues.

She knows that Sansa still thinks herself being of no use, and it makes her so sad that they do not only have to leave her out in the open more than once, but also that she can’t show her something to give her confidence. Brienne didn’t know how to have confidence back when she was still just a girl, so she has no illusions of having any vital advice to offer.

“I am just joking,” she assures Brienne quickly, offering a more genuine smile this time.

Sansa knows she shouldn’t complain. She can do these things – and so she will. The young Stark daughter simply tries her best to remember, to call to mind every stone, every tree, every pond and clearing.

The North remembers, and now she has to remember the North, no matter how much time passed while she was in King’s Landing.

“Here, have something to drink as well,” the young girl then says, holding the skin out to Jaime, too, who takes it gratefully. He imagines that the girl feels bad about it that she has to stay quietly wherever they hide her and wait for them to return, but it’s the best they can do at present.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a few hasty sips, before handing it back to her, offering a weary smile. “Do you know if there’s any passage we can use in that direction?”

“None in particular… I think I’ve been there at some point, but… it’s been ages since,” Sansa replies, gripping the skin tighter with her gloved hands.

Because no matter what, she doesn’t seem to remember too much of the North after all. Her memories are way too faint and distant.

Her home is all but milky glass right now.

“Well, better than nothing,” Jaime replies quickly, not meaning to discourage her further.

And truly, the Gods must play some cruel jape at their expenses that he of all people is the one to offer comfort to Sansa Stark, or rather, how ironic they must be to grant it that she seems to actually take comfort in his words, after all he’s done, and after all that was done to her at the hands of his family.

“I hope so,” Sansa shrugs with a grimace before stuffing the skin back into the saddle bag.

“Then we shouldn’t waste our time talking but walking. Do you have your things ready?” he asks, looking at Sansa, who balls her fist tight around the small dagger Brienne’s given her for confirmation.

On the second night of their escape, Brienne had talked to Sansa about it, or so Jaime later on learned. He just knows that he returned from his watch to see Sansa stabbing into the packed snow again and again.

Jaime didn't comment much on it, but instead just told her to thrust harder. Brienne pulled him to the side, then, to explain the situation.

“So? Are you trying to make her a little warrior princess of the North?” he teased her.

“What? No, of course not. Lady Sansa is a lady and I wouldn’t mean for her to be anything else, it’s just…,” she said, her voice drifting off.

“I was teasing you, you know?”

“Don’t do that!” she pouts.

“Then tell me why you make her stab the snow,” he argued. Brienne looked back around to Sansa still eagerly stabbing the white mass of frozen water, her expression growing sadder with every moment passing.

“I thought it might be for the best to teach Lady Sansa the basics of using a weapon if need be. We’ll have to leave her alone for a few moments every now and then. She needs more protection than we can offer at present. A dagger will not protect her, but it may buy her the moment it takes for us to get back to her. I think the trouble with the ladies is that they aren’t taught how to protect themselves,” Brienne explained.

“Well, in contrast to you and her sister, perchance,” Jaime shrugged, amused.

And she had the rights of it. Some many women could have used the knowledge of how to use a dagger to their own protection on more than one occasion.

“You know how I mean it.”

“I think you have the rights of it. It might well give her a bit more confidence. The girl seemingly needs it more than desperately. And the more confident she feels… the less she’ll hopefully send us in the wrong directions,” Jaime joked.

And so Brienne had taught the Stark girl the _very_ basic basics of using a knife, and where to aim it in case of emergency. Obviously, it would have been favorable to provide actual training for the matter, because it’s one thing to stab snow, but quite another to stab a human creature, but it’s better than nothing.

And they need anything that’s better than nothing at present, or so they had to learn.

Anything is better than nothing. That is their new paradigm.

“Then let’s go,” Jaime orders before they start to wade through the woods, hoping that their footprints won’t carry to the men following them.

And so they continue rushing through the forests, trying to be spirits of the woods, leaving no sound, no trace, just some faint echo, carried away by the wind.

Some merry tales they’ll have to sing about them. _The Little Ghosts of Winterfell_ , sneaking through the creeks and woods surrounding the House of the Starks, now Boltons, trying to escape fate itself, not by matters of swinging their swords, but just with how fast their feet carry them.

After a long run, they stop to catch their breaths, which only come out in white clouds drifting around their gaping mouths. The two horses dance around them more or less. They would ride them, if not for the rocky and uncertain grounds. One wrong step and the mare will break its leg. And they can’t afford that now.

Jaime and Brienne glance around the small clearing.

“Alright, yet again, you stay with the horses. We’ll check up further little quick,” Jaime says, glancing around. There is no sure telling that they aren’t going to encircle them coming from further up North. Sansa takes the reins, giving a nod.

“Make sure you stay down and out of sight. Best would be to get shelter over there by the snowbank,” Brienne adds.

“Alright,” Sansa nods before walking over and sitting down by the bottom of the snowbank, one hand drifting to the dagger, waiting, calling to mind how she stabbed the snow.

“I’ll go this way and you’ll go over there,” Brienne goes on, pointing the directions.

“Good,” Jaime agrees. “Don’t go too far.”

Brienne nods wordlessly before rushing off. Jaime sighs before picking up speed again as he makes his way through the snowbanks, rocks, and twigs hidden underneath the heavy snow.

Sansa watches the two rush off with a grimace. She grew accustomed to it that they leave her alone every now and then, but it still gives her chills, and not just from the cold. But she wouldn’t dare complain. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne do anything they can to guarantee a safe passage, and put their lives on the line for her every time they flit through the woods or go as far as to lead the dogs on their trail to keep their eager noses from her.

Sansa whips her head around when suddenly footsteps ring out, creaking incredibly loud for the silence surrounding them, so far away from towns and cities. Sansa closes her eyes. That can’t be Ser Jaime or Lady Brienne. They ran the other direction. Her heart starts to beat impossibly faster in her chest.

Someone is coming – and she is alone.

Sansa slowly rolls on her stomach so that she makes few sounds. Gladly, the horses are very silent most of the time, and seem not to mean to betray her now. She crawls a bit further up the bank before she dares to steal a glance up.

There stands a man. And he looks down at her with huge eyes.

This is not a soldier, he wears no armor or helmet.

He has a limp.

His hair falls from his head almost like thick threads, covering half of his face.

His clothes are ragged and…

Sansa’s mouth falls open.

This is Theon.

Theon!

He who killed her brothers!

He who took Winterfell from them!

He who betrayed all of them!

Their eyes lock and Sansa doesn’t know how to breathe.

He will shout and the men will come, she is sure. If she doesn’t kill, he will sign all of their death sentences. Sansa tightens her grip around the small blade. If she attacks fast enough, maybe he won’t see it coming, right?

No one expects a lady to stab someone dead, _right_?

“D, don’t,” he says, his voice sounding strange as though he had to force every word out of his lungs. His eyes drift to the dagger for a moment and Sansa fears that she gave away her game far too easily.

He will kill her now. Like he killed Bran and Rickon.

“Y, you’ll leave t, traces.”

Sansa just stares at him.

Suddenly, she can hear dogs back in the distance, but not too far away.

“R, run now,” he says, not meeting her gaze before he turns around abruptly and runs the other way from where he came, leaving uneven footsteps in the snow.

Sansa is frozen.

Did he just…?

“I just s, saw one r, running southeastern direction!” she can hear his voice, while so small, ring out even to her in the distance.

Why would he lie for her?

He is a traitor.

Sansa shakes her head. It makes no matter now. She gets to her feet and walks in the direction Lady Brienne rushed off to. Gladly, she is already on her way back.

“What happened? You were supposed to stay by the bank?” Brienne asks.

“There are men coming this way,” Sansa says.

Brienne’s eyes widen. That is no good.

She walks to the next best tree to knock her fist against it a couple of times. Jaime and she agreed that they may use that as a sign in case of danger arising, and indicating at the other to come to where the one knocking against the tree is. It sounds more or less like woodpeckers if you do it right, so it won’t get everyone’s attention straight away.

In a short amount of time, Jaime comes running to them.

“There are people coming our direction. They must have picked up our trail,” Brienne tells him.

“Did they see you?” Jaime asks Sansa.

“… One of them did,” Sansa says slowly.

“Did he report back to them?” he asks.

Well, damn.

“It was Theon.”

Jaime blinks. The Greyjoy lad?

“Did he report back to them?”

“He told them to go the other direction,” Sansa says. “But it was Theon, I’m sure of it.”

“We cannot worry about it now. Whether he chose to lie for you for whatever may motivate him to do such a thing or not makes no difference. They may not believe him, or they might go looking anyway. There’s no time to lose,” Jaime argues.

He imagines that this must be emotionally challenging for her, but it makes no difference now. They don’t have the luxury to ponder on those things right now.

They cannot ponder on the maybes and what-ifs.

“I saw a river not far from here,” Brienne says. “It’d be dangerous because the dogs will likely pick up our trail far easier in the water, but…”

“But the current may make it hard for them to cross,” Jaime agrees.

“Wouldn’t the water wash away our traces?” Sansa asks with a frown. She always thought that would help.

“No, the water _carries_ the scents,” Jaime explains Sansa. “The important matter is that this could still be to our advantage. Have you ever crossed that river?”

“… We played by it during the summer, as children,” Sansa tells him.

Arya had pushed her into the water one time, as she had sat by the riverbank to do her needlework. She chased Arya up and down the river as the little minx went on laughing to the point that she got a hiccup from it. Sansa had been so mad with her for ruining her dress. In the end, both had wrestled in the water as their brothers and Theon had watched the spectacle, holding their stomachs in cheerful pain. It was one of the few times Sansa forgot her lessons and just straight up got into a fight with her sister.

But that was during the summer, when the water was just cold, and the river was more of a stream.

And now it’s just a milky memory at best.

“How far is the next bridge?” Brienne questions.

“Some fifteen miles that way, but it’s old and ramshackle,” Sansa replies. Robb and Jon always told them not to cross that bridge. Arya went anyway, though.

“… That’s promising,” Jaime grimaces.

“But only if we manage to cross the river directly. If we lure them to the bridge, they’ll be after us still,” Brienne argues. “That only pays off if we can run the opposite way once we crossed the river. Then we have a chance of shaking them off far better.”

“How deep is the water?” he questions.

“I suppose it’d reach up to the horse’s chest right now,” Brienne says. “But I have no clue about what undercurrents there may be to throw the horses off. The current seems to be strong anyway.”

“Best we can do right now,” Jaime shrugs.

The dogs barking in closer periphery underlines his point.

“Even if he told them another way, they still seem to want to check. We have no time to lose, c’mon now. Before all of our advantage is gone,” Jaime urges them. The two nod before setting out again. Brienne guides the way to the river, which is gushing mercilessly.

Sansa inhales sharply.

This is most definitely not the river she remembers from her youth.

“Well, the good thing is that we happen to be good swimmers,” Jaime says, wrinkling his nose. “It _does_ pay off to come from the coast of the South after all. How good are you at it, Lady Sansa?”

He looks at the young girl, who puckers her lips, “I am not from the coast…”

“But you _can_ swim?” he asks.

“I won’t instantly drown, but I’ve never gone swimming in the sea or a wild river,” she replies uncertainly.

“Hm, good enough. Then we better make sure we don’t fall of the horses,” Jaime grimaces, before glancing back at the river. “I will ride first.”

“Who’s said that?” Brienne huffs.

“Now is not time for argument, woman,” he hisses. “You got to be Danny Flint, now’s my turn.”

“You’ll have a rope around your waist,” Brienne insists.

“That might be favorable,” he agrees. The work is done quick to fasten a strong rope around his waist. Brienne takes position by the riverbank and rams her heels into the snow and mud there, tightening her grip on the rope as Jaime mounts the horse.

“You better don’t fall in, or else I’ll be the one to drown you in the river myself,” Brienne grunts, hoping to conceal some of her worry, though judging by Jaime’s smile, she is far from successful. Jaime gives her a small smile, “Then I better do as my lady commands.”

He spurs his horse into action. The mare makes the first steps into the water, but naturally the animal doesn’t want to get into the cold river.

“C’mon now,” he mutters, spurring it another time.

This would be no issue if they were down south, where rivers are comfortably warm.

He claps the horse on the side with more force and at last the mare sets forth into the water to the point that his legs are also in the current – and Jaime really can’t blame the animal for not wanting to stay in there. The water is so cold that it bites his skin. Jaime grinds his teeth, pulling on the reins as he feels the horse move due to the undercurrents, trying to keep it on track.

“Good, good,” he mutters as the horse steps forward.

Short before the riverbank, the horse makes a step forward and down.

“Damn!” he mutters as he feels the horse move uncontrollably. It must have missed its step. “C’mon now!”

The horse whinnies, growing frantic.

“Hold on tight now! I have get the leg free!” Jaime shouts to Brienne who uses her weight to offer as much protection as she can as Jaime dips his left hand into the water to pull on the mare’s leg. He is almost tossed over as the animal keeps struggling. Brienne growls, putting in all of her power to ensure that he doesn’t fall over, but then he bobs back up and the horse steps forward at last.

“We’re good!” he yells as the horse finally makes it to the riverbank and out of the stream.

The distant sound of barking rips through the woods.

Brienne loses no time as she approaches Sansa and the horse before she fixes the rope around the young lady’s waist and helps her mount the horse before getting up as well. Jaime already took position, now copying Brienne’s movement from before.

“Be careful towards this part over there. The stones are loose and there’s deep mud! And there’s a bigger undercurrent right over there. Make sure you make your horse moves against it,” he tells her. Brienne nods before spurring her horse to gallop into the water. While she doesn't dare to be hopeful just yet, she is glad that riding through water is something she is more than used to. It’s something she has done numerous times while on Tarth, and the rivers there were about as deep, though not as cold and not as strong.

“Hold on tight, Lady Sansa,” she tells the young woman who grips the horse’s mane as tightly as she can without upsetting the animal any further than does the cold water anyways.

Brienne spurs the horse another time, pulling on the reins as Jaime suggested, feeling the horse step sideways due to the undercurrent.

“Just a few more steps and you are through,” Jaime calls out.

The horse approaches the part where Jaime’s got stuck before. Brienne slows the animal down, hoping that this will do the trick.

“Pull a bit to your right,” Jaime instructs her. Brienne pulls on the reins and the horse seems to move swiftly over the unsteady ground.

They are almost out of the water when suddenly the mare whinnies and bucks uncontrollably. Sansa lets out a shout. Brienne tightens her hold on the reins, trying to bring the animal back under control. That is the problem with untrained horses, they can react in unpredictable ways.

“C’mon now, easy,” she growls, feeling herself and Sansa shift on the saddle. Brienne wants to look over to where Jaime is standing to tell him to hold on tight to the rope in case they fall over, but he is not… _there_. Brienne, still occupied with the reins, only now sees that he has moved into the shallow water, the rope now attached to his horse’s saddle.

“Get away!” she cries out. That is very dangerous. If the horse bucks and kicks out front, it may well hit him in the head and kill him. But Jaime doesn’t listen, he approaches the animal with cautious steps before grabbing part of the harness in one swift motion and pushing the mare’s head up and forward. The horse whinnies before suddenly making a leap ahead.

Jaime barely escapes being run over by ducking away to the side, crashing into the water with a thud.

Brienne’s horse finally exits the water. It turns around itself a couple of times as it calms down.

“Jaime! Are you alright?” she calls out, the air catching in her throat.

“I am fine!” he yells back, and she could punch him for it that she knows he has a grin plastered on his face while he says so.

The horse finally stands still. Brienne quickly dismounts the mare in one swift motion.

“Here, take the reins,” she tells Sansa, who, while still shaken through seems not too scared. Brienne rushes over to the riverbank, where Jaime is still scrambling to his feet. She grabs him by his upper arm roughly before dragging him the rest of the way out of the water.

“What devils possessed you to do such a thing?” she curses. “I had it under control!”

“I saw that. The mare was short before throwing you both off the saddle,” Jaime argues, clapping his hands on the fabric of his breeches to get rid of some of the water.

“That is _not_ how you calm a horse,” Brienne argues.

“It worked, didn’t it? I did that a couple of times in Casterly Rock when still a squire. You just need to get the head up and make it move forward,” Jaime replies.

“I know that, but…,” she means to say, but he interrupts her, “It’s over now anyways, so why care?”

“You could have died,” she says, her voice betraying her, though she doesn’t care this time if he knows.  

He could have died – and Brienne can’t bear that thought.

“Well, so could you – and Sansa,” he argues, now with more sincerity.

She is not the only one who wants to protect.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” she insists stubbornly.

“I can’t make any promises unless you learn how to control your horse better!” he argues with a sly smile. Brienne punches him in the arm roughly.

“And that is how you thank me?” he argues, rubbing his arm.

“Never do that again,” she repeats in a low voice.

“I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Get that into your thick skull already. So now, let’s get back on the horses and ride on, or else my act of bravery is for nothing, which would be a pity, considering just how good I was,” Jaime argues with a smug grin.

Brienne mutters some curses to herself before quickly moving back up to her horse.

Jaime is right. They can’t chance falling back behind now, after they finally gained some distance – and hopefully enough time for the nearing snowfall to swallow their traces.

They ride until the horses need a break a few hours later. And since the sun starts to disappear behind the horizon already, they decide to make camp for the night. Brienne is quick about making a campfire, roughly seating Jaime close to the flame to warm back up without a single word.

But Jaime is honestly just amused at her antics right at this moment. She stomps around like she is that short before giving him another lecture, but then doesn’t because she is worried. He knows it’s ungracious to think, but he _does_ enjoy those small moments indeed. This feels more like it did back when they weren’t on the run… well, considering, they have been on the run for an awfully long time, but not as much of a _rushed_ … run, that is.

Needless to mention that he feels vastly better knowing that he kept her from danger – and didn’t either expose her to it, didn’t fail to prevent it, or sent her into it knowing that it posed a threat. The Gods know how afraid he was for her sake when she entered that tavern to misdirect Littlefinger all alone.

Jaime stretches out his legs, pulling the blanket she’s given him – or rather, tossed at him – tighter around himself.

“Are you alright, Ser Jaime?” Sansa asks with concern in her voice.

Truly, that girl is far too sweet to be exposed to these kinds of things.

“Just a bit cold, nothing too severe. I wasn’t in the water for long anyways. And it wasn’t deep either. The lady is just fussing a bit,” Jaime says with a smirk.

“I am _not_ fussing,” Brienne calls out from the horses as she gives them water.

“As I said, _fussing_ ,” he winks at Sansa, who chuckles softly, but then her features drop as the images flood back into her.

“So that Greyjoy boy who’s taken Winterfell was there, hm?” Jaime asks, seemingly having sensed to where her mind drifted. Though at some point the girl shouldn’t be surprised that Ser Jaime is like his brother at least in some regard, and reading people seems to be such. Sansa looks at him with a grimace, “Yes. It was him. I… at first I didn’t even recognize him. He looked so different. Like a ghost, but he was alive.”

Though his voice sounded dead.

“Well, that means he is with the Boltons,” Jaime grimaces, holding his left close to the flame to absorb the heat.

“But he told me to run. I don’t get that. If he is with them, why did he… why did he help me? He betrayed us. He… why did he help me?” Sansa asks. This question keeps running circles inside her head ever since she caught his eyes, hidden behind matted hair and downcast glance.

How did this traitor come to help her? Sansa is used by now to people betraying her – that is one of the lessons King’s Landing taught her more than painfully, but how can it be that Theon of all people would help her?

“Well, do we know for certain that he did?” Jaime questions pensively.

“Had he chased them after us, they would have had us right there. He must have led them away from our traces, or else they would have been by the river right in our spot. It sounded like they came from further up North and moved down South in search for us. That was tactical searching of the area, not following a specific lead,” Brienne argues as she approaches the camp again, busying herself with feeding twigs to the fire to give out more heat and making sure the clothes that are hung up to dry do not get too close to the flame.

She doesn’t know the lad by any means, except for what Lady Sansa told her about him every now and then between hushed voices and bitter memories, fleshed out by the deep-cutting feeling of betrayal. So all Brienne can say is what she saw today, and that is what it was. He didn’t lead the Bolton men straight to them. That is what she can say without a doubt.

“True,” Jaime agrees, contemplating.

His memories of the lad are shaky at best. Not that he paid much attention to him anyways. Jaime remembers him to be damn annoying and full of himself. But he also remembers what house he comes from originally – and Greyjoys seem to be no good company by birth. Needless to mention that he was, by rights, a hostage, even though Eddard Stark seems to have treated him better than usual hostages. But then again, if Jaime can say one thing from his own experience, then that a cage is a cage, no matter how fancy it may look on the inside. Be it Winterfell or the Red Keep under the Mad King.

“Does that mean he still led them away from us?” Sansa asks.

“That’d be my best guess,” Jaime shrugs.

“But… but _why_? I still don’t understand that. He betrayed us. Why would he help me now?” Sansa asks, licking her lips.

He helped her – but why? What brings a traitor to no longer betray?

“Well… some traitors still regret their actions. That doesn’t make their past actions undone, but… it may explain their actions at present… or those reaching into the future,” Jaime replies with a grimace. “And _I_ should know. I come from a similar spot.”

In some way, he and the little kraken seem to have far more in common than meets the eye, or so Jaime figures.

“But… but this is different,” Sansa argues. Theon took their home. And killed her brothers. Ser Jaime did Bran cruel harm as well, there is no denying that, but… but it feels _different_ , even if she can’t explain why.

“In some many ways it’s not. He did horrible things. I did horrible things. And sure, I try to do… _better_ things now, try to repay some of that debt, however much is possible, but what chance did he have right until this moment to help you? I know the Boltons a bit. They are not the kind of people you betray easily. Never trust a man with a flayed man for a banner, hm? Sometimes it only takes one moment… to change it all. And perchance that was his moment right there. Seeing you,” Jaime tells her. “Sometimes, that is all that it takes. Not always, but sometimes.”

For Jaime, it was Brienne who ignited that spark within him. He is certain of that now. He doesn’t know Theon well enough to make judgment about his motives, but Jaime can imagine that maybe… he had also this one moment that changed everything.

Some people have to see former friends and loved ones being chased by dogs to find their courage, others find it at the bottom of a bear pit.

“So… you think he changed?” Sansa asks.

“Well, if he helped us, then he did change in _some_ way, or changed back. I can’t say much about the matter. I don’t know Balon’s son very well,” Jaime explains.

“But can you change after doing… such a thing?” Sansa asks.

Is there a going back even from the darkest places?

“I have to believe in that, or else there wouldn’t be a point in me being here, right now, trying to get you safely to the Wall. I think I changed, to some degree. So if he is in a similar spot like I am, then I have to believe that he _can_ change, too. Or else all of my change would be an illusion. That doesn’t mean you have to forgive him, though. That doesn’t undo what he did. It may just be that he is sorry… and tries to change. But it's up to you if you accept that or not,” Jaime tells her.

“I try to,” Sansa says, the words just spilling out of her mouth, much to her surprise.

Maybe the time in King’s Landing truly screwed her up to the point where she no longer knows good from bad, but perhaps that is the thing. That you have to see the good in the bad and the bad in the good.

Those are not the tales of knights and fair maidens in castles, with dragons and white stallions. It’s a tale of three people who probably wouldn’t ever have met if not for chance tossing them the same direction, on a gruesome journey. If there is good in Ser Jaime, despite his wicked acts, then maybe there is something good in Theon the same way, however small it might be. But even if not, he did that one thing.  

He let her go. He let her get away.

And that was a good act, even if it came from a not-good man.

“That is more than anyone could ever demand of you. And if he is not halfway dumb, he knows that,” Jaime says. “For now we should be glad that we seem to have succeeded in gaining some distance. If we keep that up, we should shake them off soon enough.”

“Right,” Sansa agrees. “And then we’ll get to the Wall. To Jon.”

To safety.

To the furthest part in the North.

Though she cannot remember that part of the North, maybe she will remember more of it once she glances down on the entire land, standing atop the Wall. Who knows? And maybe, just maybe, that will break the milky glass of her distorted memories.

“Will you go back down South to get your child, then?” Sansa asks as Brienne settles down next to Jaime.

“As was already said… we’ll have to see. It depends on how dangerous it is. We don’t want to put him in additional danger,” Jaime says with a grimace, the thoughts of their child still burning cold in the pit of his stomach. Most of the time, running keeps them both distracted from the longing for Gurion, but during those small moments, it all comes back at once.

“Of course… I am sorry,” Sansa replies, realizing the sad expression on both their faces. She shouldn’t have brought that up. That was unkind.

“Don’t be sorry. We made that choice. And he is safe with my brother, I'm sure. Because if not… let’s just say that I will toss him into the next best snowbank if he dares to put our child purposely at risk,” Jaime tells her, forcing a smile. “Needless to mention that he hopefully has your sister in tow, still.”

“Right…,” Sansa nods slowly. Arya. She would have swam through the river only to prove that she could.

Brienne runs a hand over her face, her mouth flexing nervously. Most of the time, she is too distracted to think of Gurion, but now he is freshly back into her mind. And however foolish it may be, she just feels like crying at this very instant. She knows she should be glad about the progress they made against all odds. That Sansa is safe. That they made it through the river without anyone taking considerable damage. That Lady Sansa seems to be a bit more hopeful… but now? Now this very selfish thought enters her mind where she’d like to trade some many things if only to hold him right now, or feel his small but strong heart beating as she held him to her chest every now and then to make him fall asleep at the sensation of her rising and falling chest.

Brienne blinks once she feels something pressing down on her palm. She doesn’t turn her head once she realizes that it’s Jaime who has grasped her hand quietly. And Brienne is more than grateful that no words are spoken about the matter, just like Lady Sansa either doesn’t see it – or is kind enough not to call them upon it to cause any more discomfort. Brienne squeezes back, biting her lower lip as she watches the flames, praying to the Seven that they will get to see Gurion again, rather sooner than later.

She never thought she’d miss something as much as she misses Gurion right now. Brienne knew longing far before the day that she ever had a child, long before she ever even got used to the idea of having one. She remembers it from sleepless nights back on Tarth while still a girl, trying to dream herself away from the mockery of the ball and her formerly betrotheds. She remembers it from longing after Renly in the camps. But this is worst. Not to know how he is… it’s tearing her apart. Because deep down she knows that Gurion is hers, theirs. It’s not just some castle in the air, far away, that she longs for. Gurion _is_ there, with Shae and Pod and Tyrion, and hopefully Arya and the Hound, too. This is no longing for things she actually knows she won’t ever have. She has him. Just not with her.

It’s odd, really, that the fact that he is hers the same way he is Jaime’s seems to make such a difference. She always thought her devotion for Renly was sheer endless – and senseless at some point, given the circumstances – but with Gurion, it’s something completely new. Something she can’t even put her fingers on. But the fact that he is theirs and theirs alone makes it ever the harder. It’s just… he belongs with them, right?

But it’s for a good cause, she has to remind herself.

It’s also to keep him safe. She doesn’t even want to imagine what would have been, had they been forced to take Gurion along. He could’ve fallen off the horse today the same way. So it makes no difference however much the pain burns cold in her body. Gurion is safe. And they do anything they can to keep Sansa safe, too. That is what she has to believe in. That is what she has to build on.

She can feel Jaime’s hand squeezing hers a little tighter, and she takes solace in that.

They have each other, too, right.

“… I think I have been here before,” Sansa speaks up after a while, her voice small, chin resting on her drawn-up knees.

She looks around slowly as she takes it in. She was here before. She remembers now.

“Have you?” Jaime asks with a lazy smile.

Any distraction from Gurion is more than welcome to him at present.

“During the summer. As I said, we liked to play by the river. Or rather, my siblings did and sometimes they just dragged me along… When we were both still much younger, Arya once crossed the bridge even though Jon and Robb told her not to. She wanted to hide far away – and I was supposed to find her. She didn't tell me that, though, the silly goose,” Sansa says with a soft smile. “I only realized far later that when she told me to come looking for her, she meant to play hide and seek with me. My mother had told me to keep watch over her… so I had to go looking for her. Jon and Robb went with me, of course. We rode through the riverbank further up North to cross the river, where the water was shallow by the time. I was so afraid that I… had lost her.”

And to think that only a few years later, they departed on terms that still leave Sansa uncertain about whether Arya still believes that she hates her for Lady and the rest.

If someone was a silly goose all this time, it was _her_.

Especially if she looks at Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime. They had to leave their beloved child behind for a mission, they parted from their family because they had to. They miss their baby truly. And Sansa? She pushed her own sister away, even though she loves her – regardless of the fact that she always made fun of her.

Really, a silly goose.

“Jon and Robb went opposite directions while I was supposed to stay with the horses… close to here. But then I heard some noise, so I went that way… And there she was, hiding… just over there,” Sansa says, her eyes sparking up once the memories become crystal clear to her, as though they were made of snowflakes. As though little Arya with unkempt hair and borrowed breeches from their brother, hid right under that big root where she found her the last time. “She just yelled at me that I took too long to find her and how boring that game was… and I just kept cursing at her for running off. Mother was furious with me and I blamed Arya for it the whole time.”

“I imagine,” Jaime smirks softly.

“Sometimes I’d just like to go back to those moments, you know? To change them. I wished I had just hugged her or so, told her that I was glad that she was safe. Instead, I cursed at her and she thought I was just being annoyed. I guess Arya and I were destined to always get each other wrong… and annoy each other therefore,” Sansa shakes her head.

“She knows that you love her,” Brienne argues.

“Still, I would like to take all of those small and big things back,” Sansa sighs.

“I guess we all do,” Jaime grimaces. And Gods know that he would take back so much. All of what happened in King’s Landing that drove a wedge between him and Brienne. Bran. There would be so many things he’d like to see undone. Not to clear his own name or for his own benefit, solely to see some of the pain removed that he brought into the world.

“I don’t,” Brienne says, to no one in particular.

“Really? No regrets?” Jaime can’t help but ask.

That surely came unexpected. He thought she’d make a list of things she’d like to see play out differently.

“Regrets, yes, but I wouldn’t want to mess around with time itself. No one knows what would come out as a result, right? I just think… what if that one thing I may change for myself may prevent me from having Gurion with you – or from getting to Lady Sansa in time? And that makes me far too scared to even think of the possibility,” Brienne says.

She may not be particularly happy with the situation as it is, but Brienne still wouldn’t want to change world’s course. Even if someone promised her that she’d get to have Gurion, and that she could undo what happened between her and Jaime in King’s Landing, she wouldn’t take that deal, because that is what eventually brought them together as they are now.

Because now they belong to each other without a doubt, no matter the circumstance.  

Brienne likes to think of the things that are within her capabilities, and not get lost in the what-ifs of the past. She rather thinks of the maybes in the future, the possibilities. Because it is those possibilities that lead her back to Gurion for certain.

“I think that’s a good point indeed,” Jaime agrees. “And you see, Lady Sansa, it might be that you can’t undo the past, but you may well change the world’s course from now on, if only just a little.”

Sansa nods.

“Right.”

If Theon can, then so she can.

If Ser Jaime can, then so she can, too.

So… to the end of the North she will go – and then find Arya, and try to mend what can be mended and rebuild what can be rebuilt. They are sisters, they are family. And isn’t that the only thing that matters?

The North may forget. She may forget the places, but she knows her sister. She won’t forget her. Ever again.

Because it is the family that matters.

The loved ones.

They have the power to make us change – and to bring us back home.

They are the source of possibility.

Of future.

Of hope.

So the milky glass may break to reveal crystal clear images and make space for new memories to come.

And hopefully for many more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a sidenote, I take the liberty to have some of Theon spark up without the greater set-up the show itself gave to it. I build here more on the premise that he really has this one moment to just turn around and go away, trying to lead them away from Sansa. 
> 
> I don't know if he will play a greater role later on, though. That is something only time will show.


	38. Three Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa reach a new destination. 
> 
> They get some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around despite the update times. Man, exams keep me from all of my writing... and some other stuff. 
> 
> Anywho, thanks for the awesome comments. You are such a kind readership. 
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter. I hope I can update the next chapter fast so not to leave you worrying for too long... if you wanna worry, that is. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

“So… we’ll be staying here for the night?” Sansa asks, glancing upwards, tilting her head slightly.

While she long since accepted the circumstance that she only remembers small fragments and shreds of the North, this is most definitely a place she hasn’t been to in a lifetime. And if not for Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne by her side, she would likely be too frightened and just ride into the night than consider to stay in this ominous place in which every crevice and creek seems to make noises as though it was a mouth screeching or whistling or whispering.

“Yes,” Jaime agrees, also looking up the long since abandoned tower. “At last, a roof that’s not treetops. Let us rejoice, I’d say.”

He reckons the building looks less frightening by daylight, but in the night, one can hardly make out the top of the tower, the mist looming around it like a rattlesnake around the mouse it means to eat. And that can be quite frightening indeed. Abandoned towns and cities always have that queer atmosphere of bad foreboding in his opinion, as though life itself has long since left this place, not finding anything to feed on there. 

“Then let’s bring the horses over to that stable and get inside,” Brienne suggests, nodding at the ramshackle stable there. Jaime nods. They go on to unsaddle the horses, give them water and food, and shoulder their bags to head out. The three walk inside the tower. Brienne takes the front, upon _her_ insistence, _of course_ , and Jaime the back, so to make sure that Lady Sansa is protected as they make sure that there is no one else around. Sansa stays in the middle, holding up the candle they brought along to light the way as they climb the stairs.

Shadows dance over the walls to unknown rhythms and melodies, flitting from one stair to the next as though they were tumbling down from the snowstorm raging outside. Sansa glances on with a bit of fascination as the shadows continue their roundel, but suddenly strange noises echo through the narrow staircase. Sansa tears her eyes away from the shadowy creatures at once, growing frightened of them now that they seem to sing as well. Brienne gestures at them to halt. Jaime already holds up his little crossbow, _just in case_.

Brienne climbs to the top of the stairs to come to stand in front of an old wooden door. She gestures at Sansa – and the young lady understands at once, days and weeks of travelling with them having taught her those signs by now, so she puts the candle out, so not to give away to whoever may be inside this room that they are about to enter. Jaime gets in front of Sansa and into a position that allows him to have Brienne’s back as she slowly opens the door.

Brienne has Oathkeeper ready to strike as she steps inside, the blade forming a long white disk as the moonlight hits its smooth surface, shining like a star, but suddenly there are those noises again. Sansa covers her mouth to prevent herself from letting out a shout of shock, but that is when Brienne’s voice rings out loudly and reassuringly, “It's alright. Just the ravens.”

The three walk inside, and on the windowsill sit three ravens, cawing and fluttering their wings, creating the strange noises that come from their echoes flitting down the corridors to give voice to the silent shadows as they dance. 

Once Jaime sees the birds, he lets out a loud laughter.

“What is so funny about these birds?” Sansa frowns, glancing back between the animals and Ser Jaime, who still has a big smile on his face. While she is no longer as jumpy as she used to be a while back, those birds still managed to give her quite a scare.

“Sometimes I am just amazed that my brother is so often right even though he kills so much of his mind with the wine he drinks,” Jaime says, shaking his head as he walks over to the windowsill, inspecting the birds with gleaming eyes. “The little devil never ceases to surprise me.”

“What now?” Sansa wrinkles her nose before she goes ahead to relight the candle again to allow for a bit more light to flood the room.

“Before we set out to find you, we talked about what to do in case we were to move North to the Wall. Lord Tyrion suggested that Queenscrown might be a favorable place to go to. He’s seen it on his way to the Wall, if only from far,” Brienne explains as she unshoulders the bags to put in a pile.

“Why so?” the young Stark daughter grimaces.

“For one, it’s a good strategic point for us. Even if someone were to see us here and report back to Winterfell, it’d take way too long for them to send forces to fetch us. By the time anyone would be able to come after us, we’d long since knock on the doors of Castle Black,” Jaime explains. "At least that was the idea."

“The other thing is that we hoped that this might be our one way to get message from Lord Tyrion, _safe_ information,” Brienne adds.

“With the ravens,” Sansa blinks, starting to comprehend. Of course Lord Tyrion couldn't just send a message to some town in the hope that Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime would come to pass it on their passage up. Needless to mention that it may have revealed to other people how they move and to where they are headed. Just like Sansa reckons it was to ensure that no one would read those messages who is not supposed to read them. In times such as these, even the most loyal men can turn their backs on you, given the right coin - or the right threat. 

Jaime's eyes fall back on the birds, which are surprisingly calm in their presence. While he is aware that they have been trained to obey humans, it is still more of a miracle to Jaime that they didn’t even once attempt to fly away, even when they saw Brienne wriggle Oathkeeper around upon entering the chamber. The birds should be about as jumpy as Lady Sansa, or so he reckons. 

Well, perhaps the ravens just happen to very lazy. Jaime will be the last to complain about them doing what they are supposed to do – Tyrion warned him that it might well be that the birds will not stay or lose the message along the way, but that this was the safest option they had nevertheless, and the only chance of any sort of communication.

Jaime swats his knees a little to glance at the ravens and the birds tilt their head back at him as though they copied his movement.

Curious creatures, truly.

“You can train those birds to fly wherever need be. They don’t make the difference between an abandoned tower or one where the old Maester heaves his body up the stairs every now and then. For as long as they are fed. And gladly, there happens to be enough around that seems to keep them,” Jaime goes on.

At least that is the only explanation he can come up with that would explain why the birds stayed despite the fact that no one was there to receive their messages or tend to them.

“We agreed that Lord Tyrion shall send any raven to this location if he must, since this would still have best chances of being on our way – and safe from anyone’s view. No one bothers about some raven flying over an abandoned tower,” Brienne says. 

She didn’t think of that option, but when Lord Tyrion suggested it, it made sense to her. It meant most protection – and that is what counted most to Brienne. She’d rather read old messages or none at all than have them intercepted by one of their enemies to get on either one’s trail.

“I see,” Sansa nods.

“Care to help me with those, _my lady_? The knots are too tiny for me to undo with one hand,” Jaime winks at Brienne. She rolls her eyes at him as she trots over to him.

“What? I asked nicely,” he chuckles.

“Don’t think I don’t realize how you stress the ‘my lady’ part,” Brienne warns him.

“But that is what you are!” he grins. Brienne rolls her eyes as she bends down to the ravens, hoping that they will not be too afraid of her. Brienne still remembers rather vividly that she didn’t get to go to the cote on Tarth once she had grown quite a bit in a short amount of time. She was rather clumsy and the birds flew away when she approached them. The old Maester always scolded her for being so awkward and "fidgety", though Brienne can't say she was ever really fidgety, just clumsy. 

She means to grab the scroll, but that is when the first bird flutters its wings. Brienne already fears the raven will fly away any second now, but instead, the bird climbs on her arm to allow her to stand as she unfastens the knot to retrieve the message. Once she is done, the bird sits back down on the windowsill and seems to glance at her.

That either means she is no longer as "fidgety" as she was said to be in her youth, or those birds are a much calmer breed than the one they had on Tarth. Though Brienne tends to the latter option. Yet, it’s odd that those birds are so attentive and are seemingly _waiting_ for them. And that even though Brienne was fully prepared for not getting any message since there seems to be nothing that would keep the birds here. No good food. The shelter of the tower perhaps, but beyond that? She shakes her head – now is most definitely not the time to ponder on the nature of those animals, is it?

“This one seems to be the oldest,” Brienne concludes, inspecting the small scroll. “It’s most used and ambered by the edges.”

“Or the bird had his fun playing in the mud,” Jaime shrugs. Brienne cracks the seal open to reveal the message inside. Her big blue eyes skim over the message. The moonlight in her favor since it shines rather brightly through the window despite the heavy snow, allowing her to read the message without the need of the candle Sansa has beside her.

Brienne looks slightly to the side to see Jaime leaning over her shoulder to read the message as well, only to break out laughing.

“What does it say?” Sansa asks, to which he seems to laugh even harder – and pace through the room. “What now?”

Jaime holds up his hands, “I am sorry, Lady Sansa. This was not meant against you. It’s the letter.”

Sansa tilts her head, so Brienne hands her the parchment so she may see for herself.

* * *

 

_Dearest sister,_

_We are all in best health – and hope that same is true for you._

_Our family has grown considerably since your last visit. We are now happy to announce that our son was born -  
and that we have a maid to take care of him while we are away for our daily labor. _

_Your niece sends her regards. She misses you dearly and hopes to see you soon again._

_Yours,_

_Ella_

* * *

 

“I mean, I must give him that much – he knows how to write those messages, but did he _really_ have to refer to me as his 'dearest sister'?” he snorts. “Well, at least he called himself Ella. If he dares make jokes at this, he will get that right back, the little devil.”

“I fear I still don’t understand the joke. I mean, I understand that this is a cryptic message to disguise the true content, but…,” Sansa mutters pensively, noting the very different reactions in both adults. Jaime keeps chuckling as though he was slightly drunk, while Brienne keeps staring at the ground with wide eyes.

Tyrion let him know beforehand that he would make this message rather cryptic before they went. While he was in good faith that no one would find the messages here, one cannot be careful enough. And letters get lost all the while. And as Jaime reminds himself - sometimes even the birds in King's Landing just happen to fall from the sky, with a little help from one's allies, hiding behind the roses. 

“It is no _joke_ , and _that_ is the good thing. This seemingly means that… your sister, by the time this letter was sent… was with them, alongside the Hound, the ‘son’ and the ‘maid’. She didn’t run away,” Jaime says, his mouth still nervously flexing. While Brienne was even more upset about it than he was, the nagging sensation was still there, every day and night. That they had forsaken one daughter for the other. That she may have betrayed her promise like he has done so many times before.

But… it seems to become golden rule that the Ladies of Winterfell, however young, keep surprising him.

“Arya,” Sansa’s mouth now also edges into a growing smile. “She is with them…”

No longer just a figment in the air, a distant memory of the former days when she hid behind snowbanks and roots so that Sansa would come looking for her, only to be disappointed when she did not – or took too long. Now it’s written, on paper. And Lord Tyrion would not write it if it weren’t true.

“Well, she _was_ ,” Jaime grimaces. “We shouldn’t get our spirits too high since we have two more to go.”

Brienne nods, bending down to the next bird to retrieve the message attached to its ankle, but yet again the creature conveniently lands on her arm to have it easier. She takes the scroll, breaks the seal, but then hands it over to Jaime, “Read it aloud.”

“Cat’s got your tongue now or what?” he huffs. 

Brienne grumbles as she busies herself with the bird.

“There was a time when you read out loud...," he means to say iwith a grin, but she nudges him in the side. 

“Carry on now!” she hisses. Jaime chuckles to himself before he starts to read aloud so Sansa may also hear it.  

* * *

 

_Dearest sister,_

_It appears that our planned family feast will have to take place at another time and location._

_Father caught a bad infection and it keeps on spreading around the entire town.  
Once Father is fit to travel, the healer’s put it forth to us that we may head to the North, where the air is crisp and cold, to help his aching lungs. _

_Henceforth, my suggestion would be to celebrate closer to your home, if that is alright? Let us know what you think of that new plan._

_We still want you to finally get to know our newborn son – and your niece is ever the more eager to see you. She complains all day long._

_We hope you don’t suffer the same disease._

_Let us know what you think of the plan._

_Yours,_

_Ella_

* * *

 

“… So that means they had to flee, right?” Sansa bites her lower lip.

“Seems like it,” Jaime exhales, licking his lips nervously. “And seemingly North the same way…”

That is not good. The plan was that they stayed by the Trident, to know them away from any trouble of the North. While on the way to getting to Sansa, they heard every now and then that there might be war by Winterfell. And they wanted to be sure that the others were as far away from any sort of trouble as was possible, given the circumstances. But now they are supposed to be in the North already? Past Winterfell? Near the Wall? That was most definitely not the plan they had originally set out.

Jaime swallows against the lump forming in his throat.

“But they can’t have them, can they?” Sansa asks, hoping that the two will now come up with a convincing explanation, as they ha for most of the things she didn’t know, about trails and running away, to make it real that they cannot have gotten caught, that they are safe and that Sansa is just to blind not to see that there is no danger whatsoever.

_Please, correct me, **now**. _

“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t be hunting us as eagerly as they do if they had another Princess of Winterfell for themselves,” Jaime concludes. “But… we haven’t seen the searching parties in a few days, so…”

“Which means they might have been called back because…”

“We are no longer the primary target,” Jaime nods.

Brienne quickly opens the third letter, her hands now slightly shaking as she hands the parchment over to Jaime, who doesn’t find it in himself to cover his growing fright with a tease. Instead, he lifts the parchment into the light so he may read aloud again, his voice slightly shaking as he does so.

* * *

 

_Dearest sister,_

_We can’t wait to finally see you again._

_To improve Father’s health, we have chosen to do a trip by boat on our way to you.  
Father seems to respond to the salty air very well, so that we remain hopeful that the infection will come to pass soon. _

_We hope you get this message in time so not to interfere with your preparations for the family feast._

_It might be that we will bring some more guests along, but there is no sure telling at this point._

_Please be safe, sister. We have heard of some bothersome news in the North and hope that you are all alright and in best health.  
We couldn’t bear the thought that something might happen to you. _

_Our son and your niece send their regards._

_Yours,_

_Ella_

* * *

 

“So they have taken the sea passage. That’d explain how they might be close to where we are,” Brienne says, biting her lower lip.

The last time they travelled by ship, it didn’t end well for anyone. That was the day everything took a turn for bad, very bad. And while Brienne knows that this doesn’t have to be the case just because they travel by ship, it still brings back those memories of being hit in the stomach, of Lady Sansa’s screams, of Lord Tyrion getting hit, the fear of losing Gurion, the burning ship in the distance as she swam through the water no matter how exhausted she was until the ship was but a faint glimmer at the horizon.

That mustn’t ever happen again.

“And if I am not mistaken, he means to say that they passed at least _Bear_ Island before they went to shore, or went to shore close to that location. That means they likely got off before the ship landed by the port near Westwatch-by-the-Bridge,” Jaime goes on, trying to find even more clues in those written lines, trying to find the message within the message that everything is fine and that this is just a joke.

But that is all there is.

“But why would they do such a thing? If they have Arya… they straightly could have gone for the Wall,” Sansa furrows her eyebrows.

What would keep them from getting someplace safe? Jon never would deny Arya entrance. And Sansa can’t imagine that Jon would have denied a baby into Castle Black either, for that he is too kind-hearted. While she can’t say she treated him with kindness, she knows he has it. And Lord Tyrion never spoke of him in a bad way while they were still in King’s Landing. Indeed, it seemed to her that there was perhaps even a fragile bond of friendship between them. Lord Tyrion must have known of that.

“ _Something_ must have prevented them from it. My brother most certainly chose the path that meant least risk… he’d know what I would do to him, were I to find out that he put my son at unnecessary risk,” Jaime shrugs, though it seems to be that he does so to get the stiffness out of his shoulders, pulled by distress and growing fear. “Perchance someone on the ship recognized them or so, someone who may be no friend at all. That’d explain why they may have gotten off at another port, to disguise to where they are headed or so.”

“But where are they, then?” Sansa asks.

It can’t be that Arya is gone again even though those lines confirm that she meant to stay.

She can’t be hiding under different tree roots again, can she? Out of Sansa’s view… _again_.

“Well, if they moved logically, they’d be headed towards Queenscrown, if they couldn’t head for the Wall straight away. Because we agreed that this would be one of the stations _we_ would aim for. And in the letter it says that he hopes to see us soon again. If that is so, they should be somewhere between here and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge… and that means they are coming from Western direction, heading our way,” Jaime explains, calling the maps to his mind in the faint hope of finding direction while tracing those paths, but only ends up seeing more places from where they might have been taken.

One of the ravens caws, forcing his eyes back open and away from the dark imaginary maps.

“Unless they got caught,” Brienne adds solemnly.

“Unless they got caught, yes,” Jaime agrees, averting his gaze.

“… This is not… good,” Sansa brings out, swallowing thickly.

All the people they care about might be lost in the snow, might have been taken by the Boltons, might have… the possibilities are sheer endless again, like a million snowflakes rising and falling before one’s eyes in the midst of a storm.

“Well, it might be a false alarm, but that is the last message they sent. That in turn means they deemed it too dangerous to send a bird flying ever since they left the ship,” Jaime goes on, though his eyes are now focused on Brienne, who has broken out of her stasis to now pace around the small circular room.

He has the bad feeling that something forms inside her head that he will be likely against in more than one way.

“Perchance now would be the time to split up,” Brienne says, not looking at anyone in particular. Jaime rolls his eyes, “How many times will we have this conversation until you get it into your thick skull that I am not letting you ride off on your own while I will take Sansa to Castle Black – since I assume that _this_ is your plan?”

Always the same with this pig-headed stubborn woman! Now it’s not about leaving Arya and the Hound to go see his brother, now it’s about finding them. Seven Hells! This woman will insist on it even though she should long since know better that he will not let that happen unless the Seven Hells freeze and the Seven Heavens stand ablaze.

“I can go looking for them,” Brienne argues vehemently, seemingly sensing what he is also aiming at. “But our priority remains that we have to see Lady Sansa safely off to the Wall. At the same time, we are to keep the rest safe, including Lady Arya. Now it’s ever the more urgent because we cannot afford to wait for much longer in the face of the dangers surrounding us. The searching parties might still tail us. There is no sure way to tell that there is no war about to rise by Winterfell. This is not the same as it was back by the Eyrie… This is about keeping everyone safe, not just about seeking an option that demands least risk!”

Gurion. They have to get to Gurion!

“But if they are indeed bringing ‘guests’, then it’d be you alone against… a lot of people,” Jaime argues.

Gods know that he would rather ride out at once, but he shall be damned if he repeats his mistakes all over. He won’t leave Brienne’s side ever again, knowing a danger breathing into her neck. He can’t afford to lose her. Just like he can’t afford to lose Gurion. Or anyone else for the matter. But Jaime is done letting her fight while he is suddenly pushed into the role of fulfilling her sacred vow to Cat in her stead.

“Jaime,” she begs.

“Forget it, wench!” Jaime curses. “I told you time and time again that I won’t let that happen, ever again. Then _I_ rather head out alone and you two make your way to the Wall.”

“I won’t let you!” Brienne curses.

Jaime is not the only one who wants to know his loved ones protected. Brienne wants to protect the people important in her life. And that includes Jaime. Just like it includes Gurion. And the other people with him. But she’d rather tear the entire world down than stand by and watch as they are in possibly mortal danger.

“Well, same here!”

She won’t get to play Danny Flint on him another time. There is no bloody way that…

“I have the better means,” Brienne insists, not even caring if she makes a fool of herself, a stubborn mulish thing he accuses her of being. She is rather considered mulish and stubborn for the rest of her life than put her loved ones at risk and danger, by chickening out, running away, not giving everything she has.

“Because of a missing sword hand? That’s insulting,” he retorts.

“I also have the sword,” Brienne argues.

“And you might just as well give it to the one-handed fool and let him handle it.”

“I could…”

“So could I!”

“You don’t even know what I meant to say!”

“I don’t care, I can do it anyway.”

“Listen to me.”

“ _You_ listen to me. You don’t get to go,” Jaime hisses.

You don’t get to leave me.

“You don’t get to forbid me.”

“Yes, I do!”

“It is too dangerous and…”

“I will not allow it!” Sansa suddenly says in a loud voice, her eyes screwed shut. The two snap their heads around to her. Sansa is shocked at herself for raising her voice against them. She sinks back down again, lowering her voice as she speaks, “I… I mean… I ask you not to go off on your own. I wouldn’t feel good going to the Wall, knowing you in danger. Either one of you.”

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne tries, but Sansa shakes her head, “We are in this together, aren’t we? Didn’t you mean that when you told me again and again as we made our way to this very point? My _sister_ is out there. She’s _my_ responsibility, too. Not just yours. She is my family, even if I didn’t always treat her as such. Lord Tyrion is out there, and we all know how much he did for me. Shae is. Podrick is. Ser Sandor is. And while I do not know your child, I still feel duty for it, for it is because of me that he is not with his mother and father. You all risked your lives for me and…”

She licks her lips. Sansa is honestly surprised at herself for saying these things now. Normally, she keeps to herself, but now the words keep tumbling out again – and the Stark daughter is honestly done keeping them sealed inside her mouth.

There are different kinds of love. Different kinds of responsibilities. Different kinds of people. Why can’t there be different kinds of duty, too? Different kinds of honor? Of protection? Courage? Lady Brienne used to tell her that her mother had a “woman’s courage”, a “lady’s courage”. And perhaps that is the kind of courage Sansa can take for herself, too? 

So Sansa goes on, her voice still rather sheepish, but still strong enough to leave the other two staring at her as she speaks, “And I don’t want you to bear what is also my responsibility. I may not be a knight. I won’t ever be one. And I don’t want to be one either. I won’t ever wield a sword. I won’t ever ride into battle. I am a lady, I was taught to be such and that is what I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel duty for the people I care about, too. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect the people I care about, too. And I want to know _them_ protected like I want to know _you_ protected. And if that means that I don’t allow that you two split so to put at least one of you at a very high risk… I will not allow it. I… _oppose_ this. I know that you are not sworn to me or so, but… I still ask you not to go off on your own. We can go looking for them. _Together_.”

“Seems like the Lady has spoken again,” Jaime snorts. Brienne just stares at the young woman, before bowing her head in silent, resigned agreement.

Sansa dares to flash a small smile to herself as she glances at the candlelight. She is no longer just standing by either. Even if that means that she has to take some risks, even if she has to speak up to people whom she owes more to than words could ever describe.

The ravens caw before flying out the window, into the night, until the snow swallows them.

* * *

 

Later that night, Brienne finds herself sitting on the stairs outside the room, a candle by her side as she busies herself cleaning Oathkeeper.

Her mind is racing anyways, so she volunteered to take the first shift in watching out – one cannot be careful enough. At least her restlessness will come to use, then.

Brienne had no illusions about it that something like that may happen – that the others may have to make a change of plan, head some other place, that Littlefinger’s men might hear of them, get some faint whispers to set them on the right track. Brienne had braced herself for that. She really had. But she didn’t really brace herself for the possibility that their child is now perhaps even within a day’s ride’s reach, yet so far away that her eyes sting with unshed tears just thinking of it what would be if any harm was done to Gurion.

She can’t even begin to imagine the possibility that any harm was done to him, might be done to him, is done to him right at this second as she cleans her sword.

She vowed to this child’s protection long before he was born, she and Jaime both did together, she remembers, and she loves Gurion with such fierceness that it burns cold in the pit of her stomach. This is no longer about missing him, or being angry at the fact that her body also misses Gurion the same way her mind does – and wants to give him milk even when he is not there to drink it, which was _more_ than bothersome a business while on the run. Brienne felt like a cow during those moments when her chest started to hurt just too much and she had to _resolve_ this matter, but she never complained and just found means to rid herself of the milk so not to set the hounds on their trail. But none of that mattered, none of that matters now. That is not about missing him, this is about fearing for Gurion. This is simply about fearing the one being in danger for whom she feels a love that runs so deep that words cannot fathom it.

“Is this seat taken?”

Brienne whips her head around to see Jaime standing next to her, with a grin plastered to his lips. Brienne scolds and grumbles.

“Do you see someone else here?” she grunts.

Jaime chuckles as he sits down next to her, their knees brushing against each other.

“Shouldn’t you be with Lady Sansa?” she goes on, not looking at him, busying herself with Oathkeeper instead.

“I think we won’t be attacked by gremlins climbing up the tower to claim her… and even if, we’d see them from this window over there, wouldn’t we?” Jaime huffs. “I think I’ll do her more harm if I keep her from getting some sleep. She needs the rest. And I will most certainly keep her from it for as long as I keep tossing around on the bedroll. And judging by the intensity with which you tend to the blade, I reckon I’m not the only one who’s apparently restless.”

Jaime had hoped that he would be able to grab some sleep, but once he lied down, his eyes seemed to be forced open ever the wider, no matter how he tried to calm himself with the facts that this might be for nothing since they do not know for certain if they are in any sort of trouble or just had to leave. He knows his brother a smart man and that he knows to maneuver out of the toughest situations, cheating death itself if he must. He knows that the Hound is a strong fellow one will not take down easily. He knows that nothing is lost yet, but…

At the same time, so much is on the line.

So much is possibly at risk that the mere possibility, however small, sends shivers up and down his spine to keep him from lying still.

“If not for the horses being too exhausted and the night being too dangerous at this point, I would have ridden off at once,” Brienne says, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“You are still angry at me that I opposed your plan,” he snorts.

“Of course I am!” she pouts.

That was to be expected.

“Would you put that sword away? It makes me nervous when you get angry with me with a blade in hand,” Jaime huffs. Brienne grumbles as she puts Oathkeeper back into its sheath to put next to her.

“I am mad at _you_ , too, just so that you know,” he goes on, trying hard to keep up a lighter tune, though he sees by Brienne’s expression that he fails miserably.

She sees through him way too easily. He wished he could offer more comfort, if only by tone or voice. But there is no true comfort he can offer – because the only comfort she will accept is that of seeing Gurion and the others alive and in the flesh, unharmed.

“Good that the sentiment is mutual, then,” Brienne huffs.

“I honestly didn’t think Sansa would find it in herself to interrupt us in argument. She seems rather shy when she is out of her field of expertise. And that is hardly her field of expertise. But then again… the Stark girls and their mother have always tended to impress me, I must admit. I can’t say the same about their father, but… the two definitely take after Cat in the points that matter,” Jaime goes on, trying anyway to keep up a lighter tune. It hushes some of the darkness away, if only the one in the periphery of the small candle beside her.

The dances in the shadows that lie beyond the candlelight? He won’t be able to hush those away even with the brightest of voices or stories, he knows.

“I don’t want to put Lady Sansa at risk,” Brienne says.

“Neither do I, but it’s either that or her probably chasing after whoever would then go search for the rest of the ‘family feast’.”

“Do you think they have them?” Brienne asks after a moment of silence, her voice no more than a whisper, too faint to even produce an echo being carried down the narrow staircase.

“I still doubt it, given that no such news reached us,” Jaime replies truthfully.

That is one of those shreds he holds on rather desperately. They would have heard of that, wouldn’t they?

 _Wouldn’t_ they?

“What if we were to travel to Castle Black only to find a letter proclaiming that they have them and demand Lady Sansa in exchange for their safe return?”

Jaime takes a moment to contemplate, leaning back slightly before resting his forearms on his thighs, glancing into the darkness, “Then… I will have to slaughter every single Bolton man who dares come between me and my family, easy as that.”

“Right,” she snorts, also glancing into the darkness, trying to find the monsters hiding in there, but fails to make them out as they continue their wicked dance beyond the reach of the candlelight.

“We weren’t fast enough. If we had…,” she mumbles, but Jaime interrupts her before she can go on any further, “Brienne, now put that idea to rest at last. We cannot change the situation as it is right now. Thinking about the what ifs and maybes won’t bring us forward and you know it. It might be that we worry way too much about things we do not know for certain yet. Perhaps they are just on their way to us and we’ll run into them once we head the direction. Perhaps we are just worrying our heads sore over matters that are not even worth the distress they cause us. It’s all possible that all is fair and sound.”

“As if. When did we ever get this lucky?” she snorts, still not daring to look at him, her eyes fixed on the imaginary creatures lurking through the darkness of the corridor.

“I got lucky enough that Gurion was safely born into this world. That we managed to get Sansa before the Boltons could get their knives out to hold to her throat. We succeeded in convincing Arya to stay, as this letter confirmed…,” he says, but then turns his gaze to Brienne, whose eyes instantly fall into his gaze, shining jade in the orange light of the candle.

“I got lucky enough that you took me back despite the wrongs I have done to you,” he goes on. “I think that… looking at it like this, we got luckier than I ever dared believe possible for someone the likes of me, and given the circumstances that are dipped into nothing but misfortune. That must mean something.”

Brienne’s eyes flutter for a moment. She means to gaze back into the darkness, but finds her eyes now fixed on his.

“For better or worse,” she mumbles, holding his gaze, holding on to it.

“We will find them,” he assures her, his voice no longer forced into the light, but dark as the situation itself is, though Brienne finds more reassurance in those words than the previous ones.

“What if they got taken?” she asks anyway.

“Then we will find them anyway, and the people responsible, easy as that,” Jaime replies.

That is the only thing he can offer, however meager it may be. No great cresset or torch to scare the darkness away, just a small flicker dancing around the light of a candle.

“… Maybe you are right and we worry too much… Maybe… they are all sound and on the way to us. It’s not entirely impossible,” Brienne finds herself say, and catches herself almost believing already for as long as she looks into his eyes to see the certainty where she lacks it – and the uncertainty where she has it.

“Exactly.”

Brienne is surprised when he pulls her to him, but the mute warrior standing guard in front of where she has all those loud, screaming emotions allows her to simply sink into that moment as Jaime has his arm wrapped around her shoulder, his chin resting on top of her hairline as she finds her cheek pressing against the hollow between neck and shoulder – the height difference not mattering now that both are seated.

And Brienne always has to remind herself that she never thought it possible that someone would hold her like that – and that she’d allow to be held like that before she got to know Jaime, and even after she knew him in a while. Yet, here she is, and however terrifying the circumstances might be, it makes his words ring truer and truer in her ears, scaring the creatures looming in the darkness away without raising a torch, but simply spreading warmth where there is only cold uncertainty around them. That maybe they got luckier than it seems – and that perhaps their luck will extend a bit further, over to wherever the others are right now, will reach further than this candlelight.

At the same time, Brienne realizes the small tremor in his movements, however much Jaime seemingly tries to control himself as he holds her, wanting to offer her comfort and seemingly trying to downplay his own worries and fears.

Though he must be as afraid as she is. Jaime just knows to hide that fear behind a smile while Brienne can do nothing but draw away. But as she had to learn, there is no drawing away from him, not anymore. No matter how much she wants to run at times, not away from him – that is over in a longer while now, but just away, he makes her stay, he doesn’t let her go. He doesn’t let her gaze collapse into the darkness and draws her back into the meager light they have against all odds.

If this journey proved one thing to her, then it is that he won’t leave her behind even if there is indeed good reason to consider. And while that might make a fool of them both, Brienne finds a strange kind of solace in the secret knowledge that there is someone out there who’d go as far for her as she for him. That it’s no longer her sole dedication to another person’s cause because she believed herself unworthy as a source of attraction, love. That someone doesn't just allow her to go as far as she does, but walk with her every mile, through rocky terrain, through rivers, snow, and ice. And offer not only a light but also the warmth of an embrace when she herself didn’t know she needed it until she had them both.

She squeezes his hand holding her by the shoulder, offering a crooked small smile and is glad for it that Jaime doesn’t comment, but simply seems to reflect her own expression, a smile weighed down by sadness and anxiety.

“We will find them,” she repeats after a while, not looking at him, her voice barely carrying over to his ears.

 _Together, not without you_ – left unspoken, but still understood.

“We will,” Jaime agrees.

 _I promise you_ – left unsaid, but still heard as she holds on a little more, allows herself to get lost in the comfort offered in his arms. And Jaime finds solace in her closeness the same way, because it’s those small, silent moments between running and fighting that Jaime realizes again and again that he has her back. That even if she tries to run away every now and then, she doesn’t. And even if she tries to, is done running from him, but only means to run _for_ him as well.

He finds his breath evening out the longer he holds her, and the longer they glance into the darkness, the more they can make out the outlines, to see that those monsters are indeed just stairs or cobwebs or a broken handrail.

And for as long as those monsters can turn out to be no true monsters in the face of light, neither one is willing to give up the hope that light will be unable to reveal the monsters they paint inside their minds and feed with anxiety and fear as no more than illusions all the same.

Their son is not far away from them now. That is what counts. Their light is out there. They just have to find it.

And they will.


	39. The Crow's Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa continue their quest of trying to find their loved ones in the midst of snow and ice as Winter has come in the North. 
> 
> They are bound to follow the calls of three birds flying in the sky, and as it appears, that call may hold more than any of them ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *creeps out from under a rock*
> 
> Hello everyone. I know it's been... ages, years, centuries, eons, whatever. I am still shocked myself at how long it took me to come back to this fanfic. And I am forever grateful to you readers who have kept kudoing and commenting, expressing your interest in the fic even when I was gone from it for so long, not knowing how to move on from where I left off. 
> 
> Perhaps to offer some context as to how this awfully long break came about... it started off as a genuine writer's block that grew to be the earthmother of writer's blocks. And then private life just kept adding on tops. Things in my family were not going well, things were not panning out for me at university the way I hoped they would. While I have kept active as a fanfic writer, I found it for most of my WIPs incredibly difficult to pick up the pen (or rather, to open the word document) again. And just recently, shit hit the fan with a tragedy in the family that still has my mind derailing more often than I would like it to. I'd assume that this only ever added to my writer's block, writing about family when that is what is challenged me in real life, amounting to a task for me I did not find myself overcoming any time soon. 
> 
> However, in early celebration of the "Finish It February" challenge hosted by my life saviors on JBO, a place full of wonder and support, which truly helped me a great deal in times such as these, I somehow managed to bring myself to make a step forward with this WIP in particular. 
> 
> I will send ahead what I also wrote in a good number of comments: Part of the reason why I fell down the writer's block hole was that I came to a point in the story where I had to make some choices (title has it) regarding the progression of the fic, the kinds of decisions you cannot take back or overlook anymore, really. However, I decided to keep true to my original idea, even if it may seem even more utopian than this whole fic grew to be by now. I suppose I just have to follow the path I have chosen till the bitter end, because that was the story I set out to write in the very beginning of my JB shipping career, and I do hope that you will bear with me even if it is a bit of geographic and logistic bending over backwards to make all of that fit somehow. 
> 
> So yeah. Here we are and I hope that this chapter won't prove to be a disappointment after such a long hiatus. I will not make any promises about updating soon because at this point of time, I just don't know how my mind will progress and process. I will keep trying, I will keep writing, that is what I can assure you for certain. 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Brienne glances up at the sky, which is painted in fuzzy, gray and white stripes, the clouds’ shapes almost indistinguishable, fading into one another until only one mass remains hanging above them, weighing down on their heads as though the gray mass was made out of lead.

After they received the letters proclaiming both hope and danger at the same time, leaving them hanging in a strange sort of limbo, the three left Queenscrown on the very next day when the sun was yet to rise above the mountains.

She still doesn’t know how they are supposed to find them, even though Brienne spends almost every thought on just that matter. It's as though they were searching for one particular snow flake in a raging blizzard. They know it’s there, but it is obscured by all other snowflakes, all ice and masses of white and gray, and then taken away by the strong gust almost knocking them off their feet, leaving them blind and without a sense of direction.

While they remain hopeful that Tyrion and the others made it to the Wall, the three talked about how they could no longer be sure of it. Sansa pointed out that, knowing Arya, she may have suggested moving through the Wolfswood, and that Tyrion may have listened to her advice because he is not as familiar to the secret passageways as a local like the boyish girl happens to be.

“Arya’s spent half her life, if not more, out there, eating wild berries and making swords out of twigs. She always loved the woods. My sister knows every crevice and every creek there, I am most certain of it. If the woods meant any protection, Arya likely would have suggested to go there,” was what the young woman told them as they had stale bread before heading out in search of their loved ones caught up in countless snowflakes.

Jaime added that if they went to shore somewhere close to Bear Island, it may have been necessary to move down South a bit so not to have to take the mountain pass, which would prove to be particularly risky with a newborn in tow. That also would have allowed for them to shake off possible tails after them. If they were indeed discovered, moving in unexpected ways is what may well play to your advantage after all.

However, that also would have brought them dangerously closer to Winterfell, from where the three barely managed to escape. And Brienne can tell that one thing from experience: being on the run with a newborn child is not making matters any easier. Jaime and her had that all the while until they crossed paths with Tyrion again, and she doesn’t even want to imagine what could be now that there are more people, more possibilities, more snowflakes threatening to drown them in endless white.

_What if…_

A caw rips Brienne out of her thoughts, back to the gray sky hanging barely above their heads.

Curiously, the ravens are now their steady companions on the voyage to somewhere in the nowhere. They left them with as much corn as they could muster for the animals, but the birds left the food unattended and instead flew high in the air, occupying the space of grayness above them, flitting across the sky as though they were daggers of obsidian, cutting right through the gray mass threatening to fall on their heads.

Just today, the crows started to push ahead, as though they meant to give direction instead of just following their lead, as though they were trying to show them something that they could not see.

And perhaps even more curiously so, they found themselves tailing the birds, because apparently, they have no clue where to go looking for the snowflake they are craving for most. So why not follow the creatures that have at least a broader view than they do down on the earth, treading through heavy snow, which has the horses go at a very slow pace.

“Normally, I'd suggest we’d go to some inn and ask questions, but that may just as well call attention to them – and us,” Jaime says, pulling Brienne out of her thoughts, though he, too, is bound to watch the ravens cutting across the sky. “Needless to mention that they are rather scarce around here anyway.”

If their journey ever since Massey’s Hook proved anything to Jaime, then it is that no matter how well your plan may have been prepared in advance, something unpredictable will happen anyway, something to knock you right off your feet, to leave you tumbling, stumbling, falling. While at the same time, that new perspective, lying in the mud, face-down, may be your one way to find a new approach, another path that you cannot see from where you once stood, looking around without direction, not knowing who you are or to where your life is headed.

_Sometimes you have to fall to rise again._

Though Jaime is not yet sure how they are supposed to rise above the bulky snowbank before them, obscuring any clues of where to find the people they want to protect, have to protect at all costs, no matter the effort, no matter the price to pay.

_And **that** is the problem. _

“We have no other choice but to go looking this way, hoping that the tails are not yet on their trail,” Brienne replies curtly, glancing at Sansa, whose eyes are not bound to the sky, but linger on the area of the woods she mostly looked at only from a distance while still younger, to spot her sister somehow, anyhow.

“Maybe we went wrong somewhere?” Brienne finds herself asking before she can keep her mouth shut. The tall woman rather doesn’t share her insecurities so long they are on a day of mission. That tends to tear people down – and they can’t afford to be torn down, they cannot afford to be demoralized, to let sadness and fear keep their feet still. They have to keep their heads high, so not to drown in the snow, to catch even the smallest sign of what is out there, waiting for them to be found.

“Maybe they moved the other way after all,” she continues anyway.

Because, yet, even she can’t deny herself that those doubts are nagging her, bite into the soles of her feet as they walk through one snowbank after the next, only to discover more snow, but no sign of life hiding behind it. Brienne wished she had her strengths up as much as it may require in times such as these, but she is exhausted, and she is afraid, something that Brienne was only ever taught again once Gurion became a part of their lives and she was reminded that fear for themselves is also the fear for their loved ones.

“Maybe,” Jaime exhales, white clouds wafting around his chapped lips. “I’d suggest that if we find nothing here today, we should head in direction of the Wall…”

He squints his eyes as a snowflake gets blown against his eyeball, melting right to the touch with a burning sensation. “I don’t know. I always thought it was tough finding Sansa. However, with her, we had at least an idea to where she is headed. With them… we can’t be that sure anymore, we can’t be sure of much of anything, actually.”

It’s a gamble, a game, and the costs are far too high to place a bet on the lives of the people under their protection, all know that, and yet, they have to keep playing this game, because there is no alternative.

Brienne nods her head in agreement, swallowing thickly. “Right.”

One of the crows above them starts to caw loudly once more, as though the bird meant to disagree.

“That one is a particularly vocal member of the flock,” Jaime snorts, his eyes resting on the black bird fluttering above them seemingly to get their attention. “I always have the feeling the bird’s scolding us. And I will say I don’t quite like being scolded by a bird. It’s enough that you do that all the while, woman.”

“Maybe he is scolding us indeed?” Brienne replies, also looking at the bird.

“What makes you think it’s a _he_?” Jaime frowns.

Brienne rolls her broad shoulders. “He complains like a man.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head, some snowflakes falling off his hood in the process. “The Gods may show mercy. We are relying on complaining and attention-seeking birds to help us find friends and family… Well, and the Hound, if he is still with them.”

“If he is, that is what gives me a bit more confidence in their safety. Ser Sandor is a good fighter. And of course there is Pod,” Brienne replies, trying to hold on to that, even though her fingers are numb from the cold.

“I hope the squire learned fast. He’s going to need whatever skills he was able to gather beside from helping my brother to another cup of wine to fend off whatever enemy may come their way now,” Jaime comments, offering Brienne a mild smile. “But he had a good teacher, so I am rather confident on that account. Which is more than I can say about the rest.”

The birds start to caw in unison.

“Now they are all complaining that we don't go fast enough? Remind me that they won't get any corn when we resign for the day,” Jaime grumbles, raising his left wrist against the sky once, if only to hit back at the birds in _some_ way. Considering that the crows are the only things moving forward, Jaime reckons he is just using them as an outlet for his own frustration for being unable to make that one step they want to take so very desperately to come forward, closer to where they need to be.

“And you think that this will keep them from complaining?” Brienne huffs.

“True again. So… off we go again, the crows command it,” Jaime snorts, giving his horse the spurs. “Are we still on the right track, Lady Sansa?”

“I think so,” the young woman replies, holding on tightly to Brienne’s back as their horse also starts moving again.

Ever since they set out from the tower, Sansa has been trying her best to think like her sister, to determine the path Arya likely would have suggested to the others. However, she is not her younger, boyish sister who acted more like a wolf than a lady most of her time. Sansa doesn’t know the woods the way Arya does. Needless to mention that her little sister is no longer the same girl she was back at Winterfell, tossing food at her during a banquet. Just like she is changed, so will be her sister.

_We will be two different people once we meet… if we meet…_

So maybe there is no way for her to know Arya’s path any longer, no matter how hard Sansa may try to envision herself being that wild child who’s felt more at home in the lands around Winterfell than within the constraints of its walls. And that thought in itself is more than disheartening.

Sansa allows her eyes to drift up to the sky, which only ever seems to move thanks to the big snowflakes raining down on them. But otherwise, the world appears to stand still. It feels as though they are not moving forward, no matter how far they travel, no matter how far they go.

And perhaps that is the truth of it all – they are not making any progress. They aren’t coming forward. They stand still.

Sansa holds on a little tighter to Brienne, trying to find a small comfort in the strength this lady knight emits in all the ways that the young girl believes she couldn’t ever possibly. It is during moments such a these that she feels particularly foolish for always having belittled Arya for wanting to swordfight, not dreaming away to castles and gallant knights to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the great halls of another castle, into marriage and child rearing. Looking at Lady Brienne, having studied her for quite some time now, Sansa had to realize that if Arya could grow to be a woman the likes of the lady knight she holds on to right at this moment, there would be absolutely nothing laughable about it, there would only be a reason to bow to her and pay her due respect.

 _And where does that leave me_? Sansa wonders. Having dreamed away for far too long to find herself a prince, a king, whose gallant looks belied his cruel ways even though Sansa should have seen them long time ago, already by the Trident, already during the feast – where does that leave her role in this game? Where does that leave a girl who didn’t see past her own foolish, girlish dreams of being a queen, wearing fine silks, bearing the king’s children, hold court and work on her stitches with golden threads?

In the end, _she_ was the fool, and her little sister had a kind of wisdom that Sansa only ever learned to see now that her eyes are obscured by snowflakes slapping against their face: That you can be more than one thing, that you can be more than one aspect of yourself. You can be a lady and a knight. You can be the Kingslayer, a man without honor, a man who has caused her family a great deal of grief, her little brother in particular, but at the same time, the man chasing across the Seven Kingdoms to come find her in an inn, far away from home, at the risk of his – and perhaps more importantly to him – Lady Brienne’s life, because there is no doubt in Sansa’s mind that Ser Jaime rather would give his own life than put Lady Brienne’s at risk, and yet he does, because Ser Jaime means to repay some of the debt he feels he owes them, a debt he perhaps also means to repay himself. You can be a man whom the likes of Sansa should naturally despise and be mistrusting of, having any reason for it, and at the same time be the man whom the likes of her find trusting in times such as these, without hesitation, without questioning or second-guessing.

You can inhabit these places all at the same time, Sansa came to realize ever since travelling with those two unconventional knights. You don’t have to settle for one.

And so the Gods will, Sansa hopes that she, too, will find her place, that she will find another place to occupy than the one she used to take refuge in before to dream away and do her needlework, if such a future is to be granted to her, that is.

She has to open new doors to discover what lies behind them, or so it appears.

However, as of now, they have to find the one door leading back to the one part she now knows belongs to her – her family – and that of Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne.

Because sometimes it takes a thousand miles to travel, a thousand tears to shed, before you realize that the one thing you were missing, the one space you wanted to occupy, was open to you all the while, and you just neglected the chance of walking inside, to find the candles lit, and someone telling you softly to come inside.

And even if not, you have to keep trying until that stubborn girl on the other side lets you in anyway. Because she is home the same way the rest of her family is and was.

And so they ride on, their traces washed away by the fresh snow falling heavy and fast to cover up the horses’ steps, and Sansa tries her best to take strength from that, for pushing those doors open still ahead of her.

_Winter has come indeed._

The day continues to be dipped in gray, only ever interrupted by the crows calling out above their heads, as the three try to fend off the cold and the even colder thoughts evading all of their minds in all sorts of shapes, one a more threatening shadow than the other, sometimes combining, collecting, until they mean to swallow them, but then a horse whinnies, a crow shrieks, and they are back to white snow and the way ahead.

When they lightly gray sky starts to fade to darkness, Jaime is the one to speak up first, “I think it’s time we head another direction. Seems like they are not headed this way after all.”

“We should seek shelter for the night somewhere,” Brienne answers, barely moving her jaws apart. It feels like giving up at some point, the fear clutching at her, taunting her that if they kept going just a little further, made one more step, they’d see that one snowflake they are looking for, while at the same time she is anxious to keep going that way for much longer all the same. If Tyrion and the others are headed another direction after all, they are only putting themselves at risk, only ever seeing strange figures the snow draws into the thin air.

“Right,” he agrees, nodding his head slowly. “Once we make camp, we should go over the maps another time. Maybe Lady Sansa has some epiphany which path they may be taking.”

He offers her a feeble smile the young girl returns in equal measures.

It’s the best they can do, as it appears. Trying to anticipate, trying to think like the others think, walking parallel in the hope that by doing so, they will somehow get closer, which may remain futile after all – because parallel lines don’t ever meet.

“We should hurry up,” Brienne says, squinting her eyes against the ice crystals falling into her big blue eyes time and time again, obscuring her vision. “The wind seems to pick up. We might get another storm tonight.”

“I don’t fancy getting caught up in a storm,” Jaime agrees, somehow trying to keep his voice light, though it’s worn down by the heavy snow anyway, leaving his laughter hollow, muffled by the thick snowflakes dancing around them tauntingly. “We have enough of that by now.”

Jaime and Brienne give the horses the spurs to direct them in roughly North-Eastern direction. They saw a small clearing that way earlier that may prove to be a good place to make camp for the night before chasing another storm on the next day.

They retrace their footsteps on the thick layer of snow covering every stone, every stretch of grass that may once have been there when Winter had not yet come, which are getting increasingly filled up with the heavy snow already.

The loudest crow seeking attention starts to caw again, seemingly to make his discontent know that they no longer follow this bird’s command.

Jaime shakes his head. _That must be a male for certain, Brienne has the rights of it. That one is far too much into whining._

He already opens his mouth to lament about that very circumstance, when suddenly the other black birds start to join in, their combined shrieks almost deafening in the three peoples’ ears. While the crows’ contours are increasingly swallowed up by the approaching darkness of the night, Jaime can still see the three ravens above their heads, almost forming a bundle of blackness, their wings fluttering wildly, upset about something – or just intent on driving them insane with their behavior.

_Who knows? Maybe they are magical tricksters after all. Tyrion would probably know about such wondrous tales from the North… if he were here so I could ask him… if only, if only…_

“If they continue at this rate, I will use my crossbow on them,” Jaime grunts. “I can’t have it that we get caught by the tails thanks to some crows not knowing when to keep their beaks shut.”

All three crows shriek in unison all over again, as though they understood what he said and now meant to protest. And all three humans stuck on earth, not granted wings to fly away with, tear their gazes up to the birds occupying the space they cannot ever reach.  

“I think we’ve gone mad, following the ravens’ call,” Brienne huffs. “Those three seemingly have a mind of their own.”

“… Or maybe not,” Sansa says faintly, her voice trembling, eyes widening. Jaime turns his gaze to the young Stark girl, noting that her eyes are no longer bound to the sky, but the ground. He pulls on the reins to make his horse turn around, which it does under much whinnying.

“Hush now,” he mutters, tapping the mare on the side of the neck to make the creature calms itself. Jaime squints – the snow is falling heavier by the minute passing – trying to catch what may have gotten the birds upset, and have Lady Sansa stare in that direction, unable to tear her gaze away.

At first there is only a small sound, barely audible, like the crunching of twigs as they break under the weight of freshly fallen snow too heavy for it to bear.

But soon, the small sound ebbs into a shout carrying over the snowbank that continues to shift shape until it takes it, claims it, overtakes it.

“We’re here!”

“We’re here!”

“We’re here!”

Jaime turns to Brienne to say something, though she already turned around to glance in the same direction, too, her big blue eyes focused on what lies in the direction they almost left neglected if not for a bird’s lament.

“Am I… am I imagining this?” Brienne asks, blinking repeatedly, trying to make sure that it’s not just shapes the snow is forming to mock them.

“If you are, then so am I,” Jaime says, biting his lower chapped lip, not caring for the bit of coppery taste of blood on his tongue from where crack in the skin formed.

“And I,” Sansa says, swallowing thickly.

The missing snowflake turns into an orange dot, then two, then flames flickering in the strong gust.

Fire and ice.

Ice and fire.

The three dismount the horses, their feet sinking into the snow all the way to the rim of their leather boots, the birds above their heads all the while cawing, shrieking, fluttering, as though to remind them to stay, stay, stay.

And then, figures of snow turn to shadows, and shadows morph into bodies, people, horses, and a wooden carriage.

“We are here!!!” the shout keeps cutting through the snow, open up a path.

“Is that…,” Brienne asks breathlessly.

“It’s them,” Jaime answers breathlessly, his eyes fixed on what keeps gaining shape in front of them.

“They are here indeed,” Sansa adds.

Jaime can feel Brienne’s gloved hand wrapping around his wrist, as though to find some stability in him to keep her upright, a kind of reassurance that this is real the way that they are real, became real over time. Jaime stands wordlessly by her side as the orange lights are right before them and reveal a newly opened door that they almost left neglected in the snow.

“The God of Wine and Tits shall be damned!” Tyrion’s voice rings out as clear as the sound of ice breaking.

Sansa, Jaime, and Brienne, still perplex, just stand there as the dwarf hops off the carriage, or rather _sledge_ , almost sinking into the snow all the way to the waist, but judging by the way he moves on through the snow no matter the hardship that poses, there is about as much desperation in him to move forward as it is in the three people standing by their horses, still not believing that the crows showed them the way to the door they have been looking for in heavy snow for what felt like an eternity stuffed into a single snow storm.

“You don’t expect me to carry you, do you?” the Hound huffs, standing beside him, waving at young Podrick to keep his distance from him, as the squire holds up the torch that send that orange beacon of hope across the snow, right up to the searching party consisting of a lady knight, a Kingslayer, and the oldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark.

“Even dwarves have a minimal sense of dignity,” Tyrion snorts as he starts to wade through the snow, his eyes already set on his brother who seemingly forgot how to move, and that even though they spent days and weeks now doing just that, moving, never standing still, always on the run. And now? Now Jaime can’t seem to move a single finger. Even his ghost hand won’t move.

“We didn’t expect to find you here, but then we saw you approach, so we took a chance and shouted out. But what, by the Seven, are you doing here? You should long since be by Queenscrown, if not the Wall already,” Tyrion goes on to call out as he manages to get on top of a layer of snow to walk more freely.

“We were at the tower, but you weren’t there. Then we got the letters you sent,” Jaime explains, his lips barely moving as he speaks, surprised with himself that he can’t bring himself to move. He is paralyzed.

Is this happening?

Is this real?

_Or did we all catch snow fever – if such a thing even exists?_

“And then you just strolled around trying to spot us?” Tyrion snorts, amused. “That doesn't sound like a very solid plan, I am afraid, dear brother.”

“We followed the crows,” the older man replies, his eyes drifting to the sky above, only to find it empty.

“The crows I sent? I didn’t know they were bloodhounds now, too. Curious breed, that is,” Tyrion says as he covers the last bit of distance. He looks at Jaime from head to toe. “You need to shave.”

Jaime’s body decides to move at last as he sinks to his knees to pull his brother to him, almost knocking him back into the snow. Tyrion’s smile fades from his lips as he holds on tighter as well. No matter his smartness, his brother is the one sibling Tyrion cares about in this world, and for Jaime, he has nothing but love to spare.

From the corner of his eye he can see Sansa – in the flesh. And while Tyrion would like to express his gladness over her health right at this moment, he can see by the way she looks right past him that it’s not him Sansa wants to talk to first.

_But you don’t have to be a smart man in order to see that._

“Arya,” Sansa breathes, the word barely audible as she sees the young girl with unruly, rather short hair, wrapped in a heavy winter coat with fur hanging about her shoulders, looking not very much like the girl she last saw at King’s Landing and sent away over some stupid fight that was not worth the misgivings they gave another thereafter.

 _We are no longer who we used to be_ , Sansa thinks to herself, standing in the snow, transfixed. _And yet we are here, right at this moment._

Arya stands there, perplex, and for a tomboy usually so certain of herself very much at a loss when she sees a flash of auburn flapping in the wind that the young girl saw the last time on a podium, short before her world ended for a moment as her father lost his head, betrayed by all, missed by many, but never forgotten.

_Because I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and…_

Sansa stops in her tracks, a few steps away from her sister, still trying to determine if this door is real and if she can cross it, whereas Arya can do nothing much but look at the sister she thought for the longest of times she’d never see again, and doesn’t know what to do with now that she stands before her.

The two girls stand there for a longer moment, just looking at one another, as though to make sure that this is real, that this is happening right at this point in time, and not just a fantasy about to flit away like birds do whenever they take leave in the vastness of the sky.

It is Sansa who moves first, covering the distance between them with fast and long strides, which irritates Arya only more, likely not expecting her sister to move boldly when she was hesitant and reserved towards her, _to say the very least_ , the last time she’s seen her.

“Arya.”

Sansa goes to her knees and does what should seem normal to most other people, but apparently is not when fate has parted you, has torn familial unions to shreds and pieces to scatter all around the continent, leaving only just their past to hold on to, the name they share.

The boyish girl stands perfectly still at first, eyes wide, breath hitching, white clouds drifting around her parted, chapped lips.

“I’m so glad to see you again. To have you back,” Sansa cries into the fur wrapped around Arya’s shoulder. “So, so glad.”

Arya swallows thickly, perfectly at a loss, only ever remembering for a moment her father’s face, back at King’s Landing, telling her that they have to keep together, that they are sisters, that they have to be there for one another.

And now, they are together, it appears.

“Seems like you found me,” the younger girl says, barely moving her lips apart.

“Seems like it, yes.”

Arya tightens her grip on Sansa’s shoulders, a reflex seemingly far deeper embedded than all the foolish things that were left standing between them before their father died and they parted without ever having a chance to say goodbye, to close that door. Though perhaps that is the fortune in it – that the door remained open all this time, so that they can now meet on the threshold to walk across… _together_?

“You stink of horse piss,” Arya says, laughing nervously, her eyes shining with wetness.

“And you of moldy furs,” Sansa laughs, pulling her a little closer, threading her gloved fingers through her sister’s now rather short hair.

To think that their argument was so heart-felt back in the day. Right now, it feels like the smallest of snowflakes, taken away by the gust around them.

All seems so meaningless safe for this moment.

Some doors closed, but for that, others opened.

And Sansa finds a new resolve in herself to be sure to keep in those rooms, and have her family right in it.

Brienne meanwhile, found her feet firmly on the ground, unable to move, focusing on all but breathing right at this moment. She is deadly afraid to move, as though that could burst a bubble wherein there is a short-lived happiness at last. They didn’t have a lot of it ever since she took off from King’s Landing. Their path was marked by hardship, sacrifice, and danger.

And now… they are just supposed to have run into them?

Brienne never thought of herself as a lucky person. Misfortune seemed much closer to her than fortune ever was. Even the moments of joy such as Gurion’s birth or reconciling with Jaime had a bitter aftertaste due to the danger looming above their heads in dark shades of gray.

What if she moves too fast, too abruptly, and the world collapses, only for her to wake up on her horse, having dozed off for a moment, due to exhaustion, surrounded by ice, but no fire, cold but no warmth, only just Jaime and Sansa, but no one else?

Brienne whips her head around when she sees a presence beside her, seemingly having gone ignored by her as she kept staring firmly at Tyrion, then Sansa and Arya, trying to determine whether this is an illusion now or not.

“Good to see you back,” a woman’s voice rings in her ears, and it is only now that Brienne starts to comprehend that the person before her is Shae, and that in her arms is a bundle that contains her whole world. “He’s glad to see you, too, I am sure.”

And that is the moment Brienne stops caring whether this is an illusion or not, a short-lived dream or madness. Her gloved hands stretch out, out of reflex, shaking, though not from the cold. However, the moment on she feels the familiar weight in her arms, Brienne’s limbs go still, and she can finally breathe again.

While she thought for a moment there, gripping Jaime’s arm previously, that she would just collapse, she finds her feet steady now, back in balance after she found herself out of it for so very long.

She balances the bundle on one arm to take one gloved finger into her mouth to pull it off, not caring when it falls into the snow, not caring about the cold biting against her exposed skin. Brienne just has to touch his face to be sure, and once she can feel the heat radiating from the small body in her arms, she knows it real.

Tears freely fall down her cheeks as she keeps stroking Gurion’s small face with one finger, tracing the shapes she tried her best to memorize the night they had to part from him. He grew quite a bit since the last time she saw him. He has more hair now, already sticking out of the hood firmly wrapped around him to fend off the cold, looking like a golden halo in the dim light of the torches. However, his eyes are still the same, her eyes and Jaime’s, both combined in that small being, which gurgles at her as though she was never gone.

 _And perhaps, one of these days, you will forgive me for being away from you for so long_ , she thinks to herself quietly.

Brienne can feel heat pressing against her side, though this time she doesn’t have to turn to know that it’s Jaime beside her, having gotten back up to enclose the other side of Gurion. And this time, she can feel his hand against her arm.

“This is real, right?” she asks hoarsely, still fearing for the shift, the tilt to happen, leaving her to wake up what seems like a dream after all, too good to be true.

“Even if not, I wouldn’t care,” Jaime says, pressing against her a little tighter.

If that is snow fever, he will live with it till his last day.

“Me neither,” Brienne admits.

“Let me assure you of that one thing, yes, this is real, and real cold. I don't think we can all hallucinate it at the same time,” Tyrion says, offering a gentle smile, before he turns his attention around. “If so, that would be quite a discovery the Citadel would have to investigate in their studies.”

“Lord Tyrion!” Sansa now almost squeals, surprisingly high in spirit all of a sudden. She trudges over to him, taking his hand to give it a not very gentle squeeze. “I am so glad to see you alive. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime informed me about what happened by the ship and thereafter, but… it’s quite another thing to see you in the flesh.”

“Same for you, Lady Sansa. I am most glad,” Tyrion says, tapping his small left hand on the back of hers, feeling earnest relief wash over him that his daring plan, up to this point, proved fertile. Because Tyrion spent night for night going over the possibilities of what could go wrong, and there were still so many things that went just the other direction of what he estimated, making even a clever and cunning man the likes of Tyrion Lannister afraid that all his planning was for nothing, that he is apparently not as smart as it takes a man to be to free Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter from the clutches of a man whose ambition and appetite for power seems far greater than most would make out when coming across Petyr Baelish for the first time, to ensure the other daughter of Lord Eddard Stark does not run off alone in search for whatever it is that she is so desperately craving by running and fighting with her sword, and keeping alive his nephew, keep him safe, and that even though Tyrion cannot pride himself being a gifted swordsman. He is a gifted spokesman, perhaps, but Tyrion realized rather painfully that you apparently cannot talk yourself out of every situation the way he once believed it possible.

_And yet, here we are…_

Shae moves up to Sansa to pull her close to her once, wordlessly, not allowing many emotions to show on her face as she speaks, “I hope no harm was done to you?”

“No, Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime got me out in time,” the younger woman with auburn hair answers, knowing by now that Shae is the kind of person to keep her emotions guarded.

“Good, or else I would have had to go to Winterfell myself,” Shae says, wrinkling her nose.

“We already feared that you had been brought all the way to Winterfell,” Tyrion says, chewing on his lower lip. “I went over those very variables a lot on our journey, and had you been stuck there… things would likely look different now than they appear to be at this moment.”

“No, right before Winterfell, Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime got me out. At an inn about a day’s march from… well, home. Or what remained of it ever since the Boltons hoisted up their banners of the Flayed Man there,” Sansa answers, feeling dread and anger wash over her for a moment, but then she reminds herself that this is a door they yet have to cross, but that it can wait at least a while longer.

“Later on our journey, we went to a tavern to spend the time. We heard quite a few rumors spread over ale and stew that the Boltons were less than pleased with Littlefinger turning up there empty-handed,” Tyrion chimes. “It’s never good to turn up without a present you had promised.”

“Though sadly there were no news yet of him having gotten skinned alive,” Shae grumbles. “No less would he deserve.”

“All in due time, my vengeful lady,” Tyrion chuckles. “In my experience, the likes of Littlefinger stumble a few times before they fall off the ladder, down to the very bottom.”

“That better happen far sooner than later,” Shae huffs, hugging her chest against the cold. “Though I’d probably enjoy it more to have something to do with it myself. I’d rather take part in pulling that ladder away. If not worse.”

“How’d you do that, woman?” the Hound huffs. “I think it takes more than a maid to achieve that.”

“I am not a maid, I am a whore, and as such, I learned a trick or two,” Shae retorts.

“But now you are my lady,” Tyrion reminds her with a grin.

“That is beside the point, so shush.”

“Ser Sandor!” Sansa then calls out, turning her attention to the knight who, against the odds of his harsh nature, saved her in King’s Landing more often than most people will ever know.

“Little Bird. Seems like I keep getting caught up in your family’s business, no matter what I try to stay bloody well out of them,” he snorts.

“I do believe you will be rewarded for it in due time,” Tyrion argues.

“That better be fuckin’ so. Your sister’s been driving me even more insane than you ever did. And you already had at the point that I wanted to just leave you to your destiny,” the man with facial scar huffs.

“Hey!”

“Don't act surprised.”

“You don't get to insult my sister. Only I do,” Tyrion insists, chuckling.

“See, and that’s why I am glad I don’t have children, particularly daughters. You only ever give me trouble,” the Hound grumbles, pulling the collar of his coat a bit further up.

“I told you that you could go, Clegane,” Jaime argues, not bothering to look at the man, his eyes idly focused on the small bundle containing so much more than words can even begin to fathom.

“But the dwarf has solid coin in contrast to you,” Sandor argues. “And I reckon staying the hells away from King’s Landing, as far as possible, is still a better plan than camping out in the Riverlands, waiting for someone to murder me in my sleep.”

“Such a charitable man you are,” Tyrion laughs.

“I didn’t ever say that I am.”

“And regardless of the fact, you trained the squire on your own behalf,” Tyrion points out, nodding at Podrick, who still stands there rather motionless, not yet knowing what to do, who to talk to, and how.

“Someone had to do it. Poor example of a squire, aren’t you?” Sandor scoffs, pushing Pod against the shoulder, almost knocking the young man over in the process. Pod desperately tries to hold up the torch straight, so not to have it douse in the snow, or worse, catch fire on him.

“M’lady Brienne trained me as well as she could, even though she was with child already,” Pod insists as he gathers himself again, holding his chin up high.

“Yeah, and that speaks more for her than it does for you,” Sandor snorts.

Podrick already means to reply something, but that is when he sees Lady Sansa approaching, waddling over the already partly trampled down snow. He is surprised, if not shocked, when the young woman takes a hold of his free hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “It’s such a relief to see you, too, Podrick. The last time we saw one another, I was so afraid that they had gotten you on the ship and killed you.”

“Still alive and breathing, m’lady Sansa,” Podrick answers stiffly. “Still up for a fight.”

“And don’t listen to what Ser Sandor says – he is like that all the time, trust me, I know,” Sansa says, simply allowing herself to sink into that moment of happiness and relief. “Tough and coarse on the inside… but deep down, there is a bit of good on him that he despises.”

“For that you are in dire danger, you are in a jovial mood, Little Bird,” the older man with facial scar huffs.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Sansa argues, finding herself smiling in all earnest in what feels like a small eternity of itself.

Because truth be told, why shouldn’t she? Sansa saw people she believed were dead, sees them right before her, can touch them, grab their hand when she thought they were drowned in the sea, buried in the earth, if not worse.

She is reunited with her sister, she found her sister. What does it matter if it’s amidst snow and ice? What does it matter that she will have even more blisters the walk still ahead of them?

A while back, Sansa likely would have bothered. She is actually quite sure that she would have lamented about the hardship, about being forced out of the space she saw herself occupy for the rest of her life, but now that she traveled with Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, Sansa came to realize that those are all but small misfortunes, small pains that pass soon, wound that heal and may even leave some scars, but that bear on meaning, that mean something, that mark the path she has come, has travelled with her own feet, instead of letting others take the lead in her own life. And this moment here will soothe any pain out of her for a long time, of that Sansa is certain.

_How did Father say? We need one another, and that is plain as day true._

It just took her a thousand miles to learn it, but now she knows it by heart, and won’t ever forget again, of that Sansa is most certain.  

“I still cannot believe that you just followed some crows,” Tyrion comments, looking at his brother who remains still occupied with his son in the bundle, standing next to the woman he grew to love, and truth be told, Tyrion would find any other reaction unrealistic. That was actually the one thing he was certain of – that this would be his brother once they were to meet again, with Gurion in tow.

“As though we had much better ideas,” Shae scoffs. “Don’t act so smart. We were lost half the time, if not more often than that.”

“What? We trusted young Lady Arya’s judgment,” Tyrion argues, laughing, getting carried away by the mood as well. “A local who knows the lands, who knows of the weather conditions and secret paths that remain hidden from strangers the likes of us. I found that a rather solid plan indeed, my lady.”

“And see where that got us,” she snorts, nodding to the sledge behind them.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sansa asks with a grimace, now turning her attention in direction of the sledge, whereas Tyrion and Shae exchange a look she is unable to read fully. Sansa frowns, turning to her sister, who is quick to avert her gaze, the same way she did when her mother caught her doing something she shouldn’t have done.

Something is definitely not entirely as happy as one could make this reunion out to be.

Jaime and Brienne, while still vexed on having their son between them, also turn their heads at the sudden silence spreading all around them, knowing that such silence rarely means something good to happen.

“What is the matter?” Jaime questions. “I thought this was supposed to be a short-lived moment of joy before continuing down the road of damnation.”

“Jaime,” Brienne says, her voice filled with urgency.

“What?” he asks, rather wanting to swallow every image of his son finally back with them, but she urges him again. “Jaime!”

He tears his gaze around, which causes him to frown deeply, trying to make sense of what is before him, on the edge of seemingly becoming part of their future now, too.

“The numbers don’t add up here, or am I wrong?” Jaime asks, scrunching his nose. He counts the heads again, and then another time just to be sure.

That is not the number of people he had in mind. While they had to fear for fewer to arrive, there are suddenly… _more_.

A young girl hops off the sledge, wrapped in heavy furs and quilted skirts, standing about as tall as Arya.

Jaime stares, his mouth standing white open.

“That is…,” he mutters, and Brienne completes, “Shireen Baratheon.”

“Stannis Baratheon’s daughter,” Jaime completes, to somehow make it real inside his head. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen the girl, but she is most definitely one of those people he didn’t believe to see in a lifetime again. Because the last time he saw her, Robert was still alive, Cersei was still the King’s wife, Jaime was a man of the Kingsguard breaking oaths and keeping secrets, and the war had not yet broken loose.

_Just how is that possible?_

However, shock is soon overtaken by the urgency of needing to know what that is about, and thus he shouts, “Brother! Explain this to me RIGHT NOW!”

“That is a long story…,” Tyrion says, rubbing over the back of his head with a nervous grimace, just the way Jaime remembers him to do it ever since he was even smaller and his older brother caught him doing something forbidden around Casterly Rock.

Though Jaime is fairly convinced that what brings about this gesture that survived from childhood apparently does not relate to a broken hobbyhorse or having slipped out into the libraries at night when he should have been in bed all along.

“Well, the way to the Wall is not exactly short, you may recall, so we will have some time to spare to have this I believe rather necessary conversation,” Jaime snaps. While his mind is still all over Gurion, he senses danger coming, which only makes Jaime hold on tighter to his son, fear clutching at him even at a moment as joyful as this one should prove to be.

_But apparently, trouble just never leaves us alone, no matter how much time we spend in the ice desert where your one companion for the longest of times proves to be a whiny crow._

“It’s her fault!” Tyrion argues vehemently, pointing at Arya.

“Whoa, snitch,” Arya scoffs, staring daggers at the dwarf beside her.

“Really?” Jaime makes a face, turning his attention to the young girl with dark hair and apparently rather dark thoughts, for all he can remember. Jaime knows he should not be surprised that this girl is as wild as a wolf and does whatever she sees fit, but it nevertheless strikes him that she can just stand there, arms crossed over her chest with puckered lips, rolling her shoulders, as though this was a trivial matter like breaking an heirloom or tossing food at the older sister, as Sansa had told them one time sitting by the fire.

“Now what?” Jaime demands.

“I rescued her,” Arya answers simply.

“From _whom_? For what I see here, you hold a politically and strategically very unwise hostage,” Jaime argues, trying his best to contain his anger, his eyes all the while setting on the young girl who just stands there, looking at them, not daring to speak just yet. “As in… a hostage important to people who want us dead along with the Boltons, the men of the Vale, and whatever royal armies Cersei still has chasing after us. So truly, how did you save much of anything with kidnapping Shireen Baratheon?!”

“I came on my own accord,” the young girl with one face covered in ridges of gray argues, though her voice is rather weak. She bows her head, licking her lips.

Jaime lets out a sigh. Why does he always end up having to talk sense into children apparently not his own? So the Seven will, one of these days, he will have to do the same with, but Jaime is not entirely sure whether his quest of finding Sansa had cleaning up after two more children not his written in the fine print.

“Lady Shireen,” he says, turning to her. “That makes no difference in the eyes of your dear father, as you are likely aware.”

“That bastard can go beyond the Wall and toss himself right off of it for all I care,” Arya pouts. “He and his red witch can go try to light a fire North of the Wall, see where that gets them with their stupid Red God to whom they are busy to make sacrifices to.”

“Tyrion, translate. Now,” Jaime demands through gritted teeth.

“We had to take a detour to shake off our tails after we left the ship meant to take us as far North as we could manage. So we went through the Wolfswood, upon Lady Arya’s suggestion. We stayed at a tavern at the outskirt of the forest, meaning to make our way up North to meet you at Queenscrown once the weather was suitable enough again for travel.”

“And what happened with this _sound_ plan?” Jaime questions.

_They can’t mean for this, can they?_

Just how many political outlaws, hostages, enemies to the Crown, and what not, are they supposed to take to the Wall as part of their rescue mission before they even get there? At this rate, half the populace will ride for the Wall, following after them. Which would prove contrary to their cause of a secret rescue mission.

“Lady Arya happened, after we had left the last inn behind us and headed into the Wolfswood. She’s slipped away from the camp one night as we all laid sleeping,” Tyrion replies. “She is… quite good at that.”

“Why would you do that, though?” Jaime asks, turning back to the boyish girl.

“I heard people talking about Stannis and the Red Witch being close to Winterfell when we were at one of the inns,” Arya answers. “They were not far from where we were by the time.”

“… To take Winterfell,” Jaime adds with a grimace.

_Father, Mother, Crone, whoever, please don’t let that be true. Just make her say that it’s all just a joke. Please!_

“Yeah,” she affirms.

“So… you go to that man, meaning to take back the castle you call your own and that is currently held by your enemies? Do I get that right?” Jaime demands.

_That girl must have lost her wits along the way here, Seven Hells._

“You think he’d give it back to us?” Arya huffs. “Or even if… free of charge? Because if you do, then you are dumber than a girl who knows nothing about politics.”

“ _Perhaps_. It’s not like he doesn’t have a castle already. It’s the Throne he wants,” Jaime argues. “Stannis would have demanded your family’s loyalty, certainly, but that is not even the matter. The matter is that you kidnapped his daughter and that means the Boltons will keep feasting at Winterfell’s tables, all the while chasing us, whereas Stannis’s men will also chase us. So you do realize that this causes a problem… far greater than the mere possibility that Stannis Baratheon may demand something in exchange for a castle he has not even won back yet!”

“I wasn’t after him or her,” the young girl with dark hair argues.

“And yet, that is the two people you ended up interacting with in ways that you plainly shouldn’t at a time that would require of all of us to keep as quiet as we can, Seven Hells,” Jaime insists.

_That simply can’t be. Please let that be part of the snow fever…_

“I wanted to see if Gendry is with them,” Arya mutters, bowing her head this time.

“And Gendry is…,” Jaime questions, rolling his stump at her.

“My friend. The red bitch’s taken him away back when we were with the Brotherhood in the Riverlands,” Arya answers through pursed lips. “They sold him to her. And she took him away. Only the Gods know what that bitch’s done to him. I had to go see whether he was with them after all!”

“So you wanted to go looking for your _friend_ and when you couldn’t find him, you went ahead and stole a princess instead?” Jaime scoffs, his lips curled into a smirk that is not at all earnest, because this is no joking matter.

This is a disaster. The kind of disaster they cannot afford at this point of time, not with tails chasing us, hounds on their trail, and the fear of being caught their companions all the same.

“I went in there in the midst of the night. No one was going to catch me,” Arya argues, shaking her head.

“Right,” Jaime scoffs.

“I know how to sneak through camps unseen. I have learned that from the best,” Arya insists.

From the First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel.

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow…_

Just like the cats in the Red Keep kept flitting through the darkness unseen, unheard.

“And I don’t care, I only care for how we moved from you looking for your dear friend to stealing Lady Shireen from her father who is not really known to be a benevolent kind of man,” Jaime says, but then turns to Shireen for a moment. “No offense.”

“It’s alright,” the girl replies meekly.

“Gendry wasn’t there. They didn’t take him with them. I don’t know what they did to him, but he wasn’t there,” Arya goes on to explain, feeling the familiar pain she suffered back in the camps just as strongly. She dared to hope that she would find him, but no such luck. Instead, she stumbled over dark secrets and a young girl instead of the young man she came to find instead.

“So I wanted to go back before anyone could realize me gone,” she adds.

“And then…,” Jaime scaffolds, finally waiting for the explanation that connects the young girl seemingly chasing what could well be her little sweetheart to her kidnapping Stannis Baratheon’s daughter for some damned reason beyond his comprehension.

“I came by Stannis’ tent. He was there with that witch. They’ve been talking about the siege. They couldn’t march with their armies. The storm’s too heavy to move in from that front. You already saw how hard it is with just two horses, imagine that with an entire army. Taking an army there is suicide right now. _We_ could keep moving because we came from the other side, and that was already tough enough,” Arya begins to explain.

Jaime rolls his left wrist at her, gesturing at her to continue. “So?”

“I thought that maybe they’d have something to say about Gendry, but they only ever said that they… something about blood sacrifice, so I fear that…,” she stops, but then catches herself. “Doesn’t matter. They started to talk about her.”

Arya nods at Shireen standing there, shuffling her feet as much as the heavy snow allows her to.

“I overheard what Stannis wanted to do with her, so I followed your advice,” Arya continues.

“And what advice would that be? I can’t seem to recall that I told you to kidnap Stannis Baratheon’s daughter when you are on the run yourself,” Jaime snaps. “I am actually quite certain that I never told you that.”

“No, but you advised me to start protecting people,” the young girl retorts, narrowing her eyes at the curious, sometimes honorable, oftentimes dishonorable knight.

“And from what do you think did you protect Lady Shireen by stealing her from her own kin?”

“He wanted to kill her,” Arya then says, determination heavy in her voice. “That is what I protected her from.”

“Kill her. His own daughter,” Jaime repeats, not quite believing what he hears, or what he sees, as his gaze wanders over to the girl with the facial scar whose mimic holds all but one message “all of what you hear is true.”

“He’s killed his own brother,” Brienne says, barely moving her lips apart, her eyes fixed on young Shireen who clutches ever the more at her coat, chewing on her lower lip as she fights for composure.

“But it’s still quite another leap to kill one’s own child,” Jaime argues. “Renly… he was a political enemy at least. You know what I mean. I can’t begin to think that he would consider his own daughter such.”

He turns back to Arya. “And you are you sure you didn’t mishear it?”              

“I heard it and I saw it,” the young girl insists. “There was a pyre. They built it in the midst of the night, so she wouldn’t know. Just like the witch’s ordered for it. She took measurements once she was out of the tent, she saw to it that all was ready for a fire to be lit the coming day. And Stannis daughter was meant to be led to that pyre – to pay the blood sacrifice meant to turn the tide in the war. Like they maybe did it with Gendry, for all I know.”

Arya looks to the side, shaking her head. The young girl doesn’t want to let the thought happen, let alone allow others to see her distress, but to her surprise, her older sister is suddenly by her side, squeezing her shoulder wordlessly, a gesture she can’t remember having witnessed in such a long time.

“… I heard it, too. When Lady Arya told me to come with her. She took me to the outside of my father’s tent. They… they said it. My father, he… he said it. I heard it from his mouth, his lips. He said that they should prepare the pyre. He said it, I heard it, and my heart knows it true even though I would rather not,” Shireen says, tears falling from her eyes this time.

“Was I supposed to leave her, then, you tell me?” Arya scoffs.

“You never should have been there in the first place,” Jaime retorts.

“I wasn’t planning on it! And you really don’t get to go on about that after what you did to Bran. Let’s be honest with one another, _ser_ , you never should have been there either, or else this would have been prevented,” Arya retorts.

“You know the girl has a point,” Tyrion whistles.

“You shut your mouth,” the older brother snaps.

Arya shakes her head. “I went away so that it’d only be me if they had caught me looking for Gendry. I didn’t put your child at risk. I am not that kind of person. I just wanted to see about my friend… and once I was there… I found someone in need. Be it a princess or a peasant. I’ve seen enough boys and girls my age pass because of politics and faith, I wasn’t going to see it happen another time. I did as you said, and I want to think I did right by that – I started protecting someone instead of simply planning the murder of those who harmed us.”

“But they are going to come after us, and then not just you and I will be in danger, but so will be your sister, so will be Gurion – and Shireen,” Jaime argues.

“They wanted her dead, what does it bother them? She’s gone for good,” the girl scoffs.

“Well, they wanted her dead _for a purpose_. You prevented that purpose from being fulfilled. So either they are going to come after us to fetch her, or finish that which they started,” Jaime tells the dark-haired girl, his mind already starting to paint all those taunting options now suddenly their future. He grew somewhat prepared by now for the dangers coming from Winterfell and the Southern regions, but to have Stannis Baratheon now actively against them as well? That is a risk that is ever the more threatening to an already endangered future.

“I… I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Shireen says, barely moving her lips apart as she speaks. “She said I could come with you, to the Wall. I was there before, and Arya said they are headed there anyway. I liked it there well enough. They had nice books, and maybe Sam and Gilly are still there… or perhaps Ser Davos. He was supposed to head to there to gather forces…”

“Do I have to know those people?” Jaime asks, frowning.

“No, but they are my friends,” the young girl answers, seemingly trying to hold on to memories as much as she can in times such as these. “And in case of Ser Davos… far more than that.”

“Well, so what now? Does the Kingslayer want to leave her here?” Arya challenges the older man through narrowed eyes. “And live up to his bad reputation or what?”

Jaime shakes his head with a grimace, answering promptly, “Of course not.”

“Can never harm to ask,” Arya snorts.

“I chased a thousand miles to find your sister. Do you sincerely think I’d abandon a girl now that she stands right before me?” Jaime retorts.

There may have been a time when he himself wouldn’t have been too sure how to answer that question, but now? He couldn’t be more certain.

As it appears, he changed after all, and hopefully more into the man Jaime wants to be in the future, for the sake of the people under his protection, for the people he loves.

“… No,” Arya answers simply, knowing the answer true even before she says it aloud. While a part of her will likely always hate him for what he did to Bran, another part, the young girl knows, will remain indebted to the man who saved his sister at the risk of his own life and that of his loved ones.

So the young girl tends to think she owes this man that bit of credit after all.

“I do appreciate it that you do not think that lowly of me,” Jaime scoffs.

“You gave me any reason to,” Arya replies, but then adds peaceably. “But you give me other reasons now as well. Seemingly, the world is making us do a lot of bad things… but also the good.”

“So… you won’t send me away?” Shireen asks hesitantly.

“No, Lady Shireen. If you want to go to the Wall, then that is where we will take you. If your father wants to fetch you, he’ll have to come through the gates like any other visitor of Castle Black. And I tend to think that he won’t fight at Winterfell and the Wall at the same time,” Jaime tells her. “At least I hope…”

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble,” she argues.

“I know,” Jaime assures her. “You just want to live, like any other. You just want to be with the people who care about you, like any other. And it’s sad enough to think that this person is apparently… not your father anymore.”

“Thank you,” the girl mouths, her words barely audible, but then she lets her gaze wander to the tall, blonde woman standing beside Jaime who remained mostly silent throughout the fight between him and Arya.

“And what of you, m’lady? Do you want to see me gone?” Shireen asks.

While she did not travel with these people for very long, Shireen listened carefully for what they said about the ominous knight and lady knight they were meant to find and meet. She caught up on some stories, in particular those relating to her uncle’s death. While her father never admitted to having seen about Renly’s execution, the night outside his tent brought something to fall and crumble in the young girl, leaving her with no chance but to open her eyes to the possibility that her father is not the man she thought he was.

Because when she turned around, there was a pyre, the shadow reaching all the way to the hem of her dress, taunting her, trying to pull her closer, away, her father’s voice deafening her, until the girl dressed in boy’s clothing held out her hand to her and told her that she could come with her if she acted quick.

And so Shireen did.

And if that is the truth, and her father indeed saw to it that his own brother died for his own ambitions, then the woman sworn to Renly’s protection may well have objections to staying close to the girl whose father ordered for his execution.

“No,” is the simple reply slipping from Brienne’s mouth as she holds on to the bundle holding Gurion a little tighter. “We are all headed to the Wall. That is the end of it for me. And I think it’d be for the best to seek refuge for the night now. The storm is picking up and we cannot allow ourselves to be buried by the snow.”

The others watch as the tall woman turns around abruptly and simply starts to walk in direction of the tree line off to their right, all the while keeping her son close to her. Jaime sucks the inside of his cheek into his mouth before turning around as well, grabbing the reins of both their horses before catching up to her.

“We shouldn’t waste our time, now come!” he calls out over his shoulder.

“You heard the man. And that may be the first reasonable thing I heard that whole damn day,” the Hound comments before starting to wade through the snow after them as well.

The rest of the group soon gathers as well and starts towards the tree line promising protecting from the cold and unforgiving winds blowing from the North, and above their heads, unknown, three crows disappear into the night, following the call from the North, to where they are meant to go, meant to be all along.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take the group too long to find a place to spend the night, a small clearing proving to be a rather good protection from the harsh winds hissing as they slap across the snow.

A fire is lit and for a moment, it almost seems like any other night Brienne, Jaime, and Sansa spent in the woods, huddled over by the flames, hoping for a better future to reveal itself by morning’s rise, trying to leave their doubts and insecurities to dance with the shadows looming behind them.

However, it’s truly nothing like it used to be.

Nothing is the way it used to be.

And the future became even more fragile than it was in both Jaime’s and Brienne’s wildest imagination or darkest vision.

Yet, they find themselves clutching on to that fragile future as they hold on with all their mind to the fragile present in a bundle, the one true promise of a future that matters to them, looking at them with bright eyes, as though the world was not nearly as frightening, as threatening as the adults all make it out to be.

“I somehow can’t seem to take my eyes off of him,” Jaime comments quietly, letting the fingers of his left hand dance over the heavy layers of wool and fur, almost hesitant now that he was reminded of the fragility of this their world. “I didn’t think I’d see him today, and yet… here he is.”

He lets his gaze wander to Brienne, who remained almost painfully silent ever since she spoke to Shireen to assure her of their support, her big blue eyes transfixed on their little cub, rocking back and forth gently, to the rhythm of the boughs swinging in the winds.

“Are you alright?” he asks her. “Brienne?”

The blonde woman tears her gaze around to him, as though she only took notice of his presence right at this moment, and Jaime doesn’t even have to wait for an answer, since it is in the big blue orbs that captivated him what seems like a small eternity ago now.

“Can you… can you take him for a while?” Brienne then asks in turn, which has Jaime’s frown only ever deepen.

“… Sure,” Jaime answers slowly as she picks up Gurion from her lap to place in his arms, the movement to balance his son almost instantly returning to him, Jaime notes for a moment. “Hello there, little cub.”

“I will be right back,” Brienne tells him as she gets up. She brushes some snow off of her coat before walking away from the fire, towards the trees framing the clearing. Jaime’s gaze follows her all the while, well aware that something is wrong with the woman whose heart he can almost feel beating right beside his whenever she is too far gone.

Jaime looks back at Gurion, who only ever gurgles gleefully at him, the way he seems to do far more often than one would think, considering their situation.

“You don’t come to know what your Lady Mother is up to, do you?” he asks, but the baby only ever puckers its lips.

“That’s what I thought,” Jaime chuckles, before getting up himself, in the same motion pressing a kiss to the child’s brow. He walks over to Sansa, who is sitting close to her sister, upon her own insistence, trying to create closeness where distance ruled for far too long.

“Lady Sansa, would you mind taking him for a while?” Jaime asks, nodding at the bundle in his arms.

“Oh, not at all!” Sansa says rather enthusiastically. “I didn’t get to take a good look at him yet anyway.”

“Then it’s high time that you get to know one another after all,” Jaime says with a smirk, handing the bundle over to her. Sansa takes Gurion into her arms rather expertly, rocking him back and forth in her arms. “He is so perfect.”

“He snores,” Arya comments, chuckling, tapping her index finger against the furs. “You will surely grow to be an annoying little lion, won’t you?”

“I bet he will be a fine, gallant knight in the future,” Sansa argues, smiling at the baby, reminding herself that this little life was born against the odds of the hardships they encountered, against the odds of the terrors that awaited them on the ship meant to Tarth, though it never reached the shores of the Sapphire Isle.

Because that little baby is the proof that you can be both, that you can be more than one thing, a lady knight and mother all the same, a Kingslayer and loving father all the same. And that in itself gives Arya a bit of hope after all.

“You always think that,” Arya huffs, rolling her eyes with a grin tugging at her lips. “That one is certainly an adventurer. Look how far he’s come! And he’s not even one year old just yet.”

Knowing Gurion thus in good hands, Jaime dares to tend to the more urgent business, which is the woman he just keeps chasing, no matter how close they actually are.

Because he always will.

Because Brienne and Gurion, that Jaime knows by now, are his one sense of direction, his way ahead.

Jaime spots Brienne kneeling, her back to the camp, somewhere where only little light from the fire there makes it way past the trees. Oathkeeper is propped up against the tree in front of her.

“Brienne?”

“Is Gurion…?”

“He is with Sansa and Arya, likely having the time of his life with all the attention he is getting. Don’t worry. I suppose the little girl is actually rather fond of him even though she tries to act like she is not enchanted with our little cub. But he has his father’s charm after all,” Jaime means to joke, but he can see at once that it falls flat on Brienne as she keeps glancing at the sword that came to mean so much between them, its rubies and gold glistening even in the sparse light.

“What is the matter with you, for real this time?” Jaime demands to know, motioning closer. “For that fortune came to us travelling on a crow’s wing, you seem rather… downcast, I daresay.”

And Jaime would want Brienne to simply be happy, if only just for the one night of happiness of being reunited with their family and friends – and some unexpected visitors.

“We are blessed, I know that. Arya, Gurion… they are all back with us, though earlier the day, we thought we wouldn’t ever find them heading this way, if not for the crows,” Brienne says, her eyes still transfixed on the blade. “This is a great fortune, greater than I ever thought possible.”

“But?” Jaime asks, but then goes on to suggest, “It’s about Shireen, isn’t it?”

Her lack of reply is actually answer enough for Jaime.

“Do you regret it that we decided to take her with us? You know you can say that to me. It’d be just between us,” Jaime assures her. While he knows that the woman is too true and too honorable for her own good at times, Jaime is also aware that it can sometimes be such an ointment for the soul to simply let out all the bad thoughts, the ones you try to keep hidden, let out that bad blood, so to forget your shame and self-blame, if only for a moment or two.

That one time in the baths of Harrenhal? It made Jaime travel lighter ever since.

The time he confessed his love to Brienne and she took him back? That gave him wings for a moment or two, and Jaime would like for Brienne to feel a little less weight on her shoulders, too. While they are so very strong, can carry so much, he knows about their fragility all the same, her fragility, which normally stays hidden underneath her armor and strong physique.

“I don’t regret that, no. I couldn’t ever. She is only just a girl. She can’t help it that her father is a murderous, treacherous, corrupt, dishonorable man. I’d never hold that against her,” Brienne says, shaking her head. “I never could. Never.”

“That’s what I thought. So what upsets you that you can only ever look at Gurion as though we were about to say goodbye again?” Jaime asks, this time kneeling down beside her to look Brienne deep in the eyes, knowing that they will tell him the answer even in the dim light of the campfire and the moon hiding above the canopy dancing in the strong gust.

“This is Stannis’s daughter,” Brienne begins, not daring to look at him just yet.

“Well, yes, apparently?” Jaime frowns, trying to understand.

Brienne looks at the sword, tapping the flat of her hand against her flat chest.

“No, you don’t… it’s… I hate this man. The Gods know I do. I hate him for what he did to Renly, and in what fashion he’s done it. I despise him with every fiber of my being. And the Gods know how heavy that weighed on my heart,” Brienne says, her eyes fixed on Oathkeeper. “I swore it. I swore that I would avenge him. Not on this sword but another, but I made that pledge, to kill the man who cut my heart in half as his shadow cut through Renly’s armor in that tent.”

“And now no longer?” Jaime asks quietly.

“Now my heart weighs ever the heavier because of it. Because now I see his daughter, good and sweet and kind. And she is a daughter who would have mourned her father, had I gotten a chance to avenge Renly. And I didn’t even think about that while I made that pledge. I didn’t think about the loved ones he would leave behind. So what does that make me?”

This time she looks back at Jaime, her eyes pleading for an answer.

“Considering what that man was about to do, the grief you would have caused her then may well have saved her life all the same,” Jaime tells her, hoping to offer Brienne a bit of reassurance, a bit of comfort. “Being one myself, I can say that one thing for certain: Stannis Baratheon is not a good man.”

“Even if so… He has a family, he has goodness in this world, and… and the more I think about it, the sicker I grow. Because he has that goodness, right before him, right within his reach. Gods know what I would have given to have Gurion right by my side all the while we were separated,” Brienne says, shaking her head. “And he killed his own kin, and now meant to kill another? His own one living daughter? In my hatred I almost forgot that he had a family, too, I will admit it. I thought about nothing but killing him, and I wasted no thought on what that’d mean for her.”

She nods in direction of the camp where Shireen and the others are busy talking.  

“I didn’t, the Gods know it true, but now… now I see what her own father meant to do to her. It’s one thing to mean to kill your brother opposing you, as much as that pains my heart to admit, but… but your own daughter, a child born from your blood, your flesh, your soul… I… I just don’t know how you can do that,” Brienne mutters. “I would rather die than sacrifice Gurion. I would rather die than see any harm being done to him. That is… that is natural… I thought? But what this man meant to do… that is not what parents do. How could he? How can he mean harm to such a sweet, young girl? How can he?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m the wrong man to ask that question,” Jaime says nervously. “You know what I was willing to do to a boy not mine, just to keep my secret, only because… as Ara rightly pointed out, I was where I should not have been and had to hide the evidence.”

And that guilt will forever weigh on his shoulders alone, Jaime is aware, but so the Gods will, the time will come that he will find a way to repay at least some of the debt he owes the dark-haired boy whose legs he took at the price of seeing his family protected, no matter the costs, no matter the sacrifice.

“But would you have done _that_ thing if it had been Gurion?” Brienne asks.

A while back, she never even would have allowed that thought, but the journey with Jaime taught her some many things, including that sometimes protecting your loved ones means committing an act of disgrace, dishonor.

Because we make choices, and not always do they serve the good, not always do they leave your honor intact. Sometimes, the choices you make are impossible, sometimes they are not, and you still end up making the wrong one, but by the end of the day, Brienne wants to think that it’s the totality of the choices you make that determines whether you are a good person or not.

Because the man who did some truly despicable things is also the man she chose, the man who chose her, after they, at last, put past their differences and denial of each other’s commitment for one another, each other’s choice for one another.

“No.”

“But Stannis did just that. With fire. He planned and prepared. He had a pyre set up to burn his own daughter, for something as unimportant as his own ambitions. There is a difference in that. There is something… I don’t know how you can do that to your own loved ones. How can you _not_ do anything within your powers to know them protected? I just… I don’t understand it.”

“At some point I hope we are never going to find out,” Jaime answers. “Because that means he stays away from us – and her.”

“Might be for the best indeed,” she agrees.

He studies Brienne with a grimace. “But that is not the only reason why you keep away, is it?”

The tall woman sucks her lower lip into her mouth, visibly contemplating her reply.

“Renly never spoke much of Shireen, you see. Not to me, at least. I think he even made fun of her on occasion. He was not a… perfect man, really. Far too driven by his own ambitions. Perhaps that was the one thing he had in common with his brother,” Brienne goes on to say, looking back at the sword.

There was a time when her heart couldn’t bear to even think of Renly in a negative way, because it was the man she had to hold up high as the man she loved, the one beacon of hope for a love she knew wouldn’t ever be. However, over time, Renly was driven from her mind, became a faint whisper in the back of her head. Just like the memories she clutched on to so desperately, especially after his demise, somehow lost the shine they once had when she closed her eyes and called him to her mind.

Renly was not without fault, but of that she remains certain, he deserved better than what he got at the hands of Stannis Baratheon, his own brother, a man to whom an iron chair is more important than his own kin – a man for whom Brienne can no longer muster any sympathy.

Because a man who is willing to kill a brother and a daughter for mere ambition? Such a man does not deserve power, does not deserve the throne, and even less so does he deserve the love of the daughter he was willing to give over to the flames.

“But despite all his faults… Renly didn’t deserve what was done to him. There was no honor to the act, no way for him to protect himself. And now Stannis repeated, or tried to repeat, that with his own daughter. Like a coward he hides behind his faith, behind that ominous Red Woman, his claim to the Iron Throne,” Brienne continues, letting out a shuddered breath. “And that is why I think I still have to keep the vow I made to Renly.”

“About killing Stannis.”

“About bringing him to justice. But I see now that I cannot fulfill the vow I once made,” Brienne explains.

And that is why she felt she had to do it, make a new vow, a promise.

Another choice.

And that thought alone send her heart into one turmoil after the next, because it was so deeply embedded into her heart that Brienne thought it was impossible to part it from her soul ever again. And yet, as she knelt down to remind herself of the vow she took to see Renly’s death being avenged, Brienne found that there was a way for her to change that which seemed unchangeably buried in the flesh of her heart.

“Then what vow do you want to make instead?” Jaime asks, well aware that for Brienne, the mere idea of being unable to keep a promise is nearly unbearable.

“So the Gods will, so the Gods grant me the strength and opportunity, I will bring Stannis Baratheon to justice. That has not changed. And if justice is served at the tip of Oathkeeper, then so I will carry it out, but that will not be my decision to make. That is what has changed now,” Brienne tells him.

“Then whose?” Jaime asks.

“The daughter he was willing to leave to the mercy of his own God, simple as that,” she answers.

Because, that is what Brienne now realized, that girl is her responsibility, too, if only for the debt she believes she owes her for forgetting about her when she was driven by her wish of revenge for Renly.

“You want Shireen to decide?”

“I want her to have the choice, if we are granted such, for which I cannot account right now. But it is important to me that this promise is no longer just about Renly. My pledge… it now has to include her. Because I forgot about Shireen Baratheon before, when truly, I shouldn’t have. And while Renly didn’t care too much about her, then so I will in his stead. By the Seven, I will. No one is sworn to protect her right now… so I consider it my duty, as she is the niece of the man whom I pledged my sword to long time ago,” Brienne tells Jaime. “Not just Lannisters pay their debts.”

“That sounds like a good vow to me,” Jaime tells her quietly, offering a small smirk. “And perhaps also one we can keep.”

Brienne frowns at that. “ _We_?”

“Why? Don’t you know that whatever vow you make is mine to keep as well?” Jaime chuckles softly.

_Whatever weight you shoulder, I will try to shoulder with you, whether you want me to or not. You don’t get rid of me that easily ever again, wench._

Jaime is rather surprised when Brienne, her fingers curled around Oathkeeper’s pommel, leans over to kiss him, but he leans into the touch more than willingly, knowing that ever kiss, every sign of affection is a blessing for him, one Jaime tends to think he has to keep growing deserving of, but works for with all his might.

Once they pull apart, he presses his forehead against hers, offering another gentle smirk. “But now is no more time for sadness, hm? At least tonight we should celebrate our small victory. We have our son back. The Stark girls are reunited. A whole lot of good has been swept our way in this storm. And I don’t think we should waste that precious time thinking about fragile futures and sad pasts.”

“You are right,” Brienne agrees quietly. “After all, we have Gurion back.”

“We have Gurion back,” Jaime repeats, if only to remind themselves of that circumstance, of this being the present now.

“And that is real.”

“Yes.”

They hold each other close a while longer, lingering in that feeling, the pure relief that came on the wake of a bird’s wing. And Brienne is so thankful that in Jaime she has someone to share not just the joy with, but also the dark thoughts, and the vows, that the choices they make, they make together.

Once they withdraw from one another, Brienne quickly sheaths Oathkeeper again, and the two walk back towards the camp where the rest of the group is still gathered around the fire. Tyrion and Shae are huddled over under some blanket they brought along on the sledge, whereas the Hound sought out a spot furthest away from the others. Podrick has his eyes focused on the area beyond, dutifully keeping watch, and the girls are occupying themselves talking, acting more like children their age than they likely had the chance to in a far too long time.

Jaime can’t help but chuckle as he sees the three young girls gathered around their son. Arya lifts the boy high in the air, making dramatic gestures before letting him back down, to which the baby only ever gurgles with more excitement, seemingly something she did with him before, even though Arya would probably deny that any time if he were to ask her about it, after all, she has a reputation as a tomboy to lose.

“Here, try it!” Arya calls out, handing Gurion over to Shireen, who copies the movement promptly to the very same result. “The little devil loves that for _some_ reason.”

“I suppose the ladies are enjoying themselves about alright with our son?” Jaime calls out as they draw closer, all the while making sure that Brienne does not withdraw again, but thankfully, she keeps right by his side this time.

 _Where you belong, Brienne_ , he adds, if only to himself.

“Oh, I should have asked if it is alright to…,” Shireen means to say, but Brienne quickly interrupts her, “It’s alright. Gurion seems to like your company quite a lot.”

The girl offers her an uncertain smile before the baby has her attention again, and to Brienne’s own surprise, she feels a strange sort of relief washing over her, now that she watches the girl whom she forgot about in her wish for revenge be around the child she could never forget in a lifetime. Because it reminds her that it may well be possible for her to keep that new vow.

“For a man who’s been bound to celibacy, I get to tend to more children than I ever fathered,” Jaime comments.

“Well, you fathered one of those here at least, so it’s not only foster children now suddenly in your care,” Tyrion calls out, sitting next to Shae, likely sharing wine from the skin that travels back and forth between the two.

“I am no foster child! I am no child anyway!” Arya retorts, waving her left hand at him dismissively.

“You know that this is what any child would say?” Tyrion snickers.

“And you know that this is what a child would say, too?” Arya counters.

“The both of you shut up. You are annoying and I want to sleep,” the Hound laments, pulling the furs further up his nose. “Damn the North. Damn the cold. Damn all of this shit here.”

“You can still go back South if you want,” Arya huffs. “No one is going to stop you now. At least I won’t.”

The man with facial scar mutters some incoherent curses to himself before turning away to ignore the rest and likely get the rest he spoke about.

“He is such a ray of sunshine,” Jaime comments with a grin before sitting down with the girls. “And now you will show me that trick that makes Gurion giggle like that. So that I have something to do in case he starts whining again. You owe me that much, little wolf.”

“I owe you nothing, Kingslayer,” Arya snorts, sticking out her tongue, but then she smiles at him anyway, for now daring to think that a truce between them is quite alright.

“You just have to bend backwards a bit more than you usually would,” Shireen says. “He finds that funny for some reason.”

“I like her better than you already,” Jaime snickers, pointing at Shireen.

“I like her better than you, too,” Arya snorts, grinning.

“At last something we agree on,” the older man chuckles softly, trying to ease into that moment of short-lived joy, of short-lived peace, no matter the troubles awaiting them past this night, past this snow storm raging beyond the woods.

“Lady Brienne? I think he wants to be back in your arms,” Shireen says, gesturing at Gurion. Brienne kneels down next to her after hearing that and carefully takes the baby from the young girl’s arms.

“Thank you, Lady Shireen.”

“Is everything alright again?” the young girl asks.

“For tonight… it couldn’t be any better,” Brienne tells the young girl, before her arms start to pick up on the rhythm of the boughs swinging in the gust coming from the North.

Because they found the one snowflake amidst a storm.

And if that means walking through another, then so they will.

Because of that one thing Brienne is certain, she has someone to walk right beside her, to keep her up when she feels like falling, with no more than the brush of his fingers against her arm.

She flashes a small smirk over to the man who started out dipped in the shadows, but over time, as the lights she cloaked Renly in kept fading, came to embrace the man she learned to embrace, learned to love.

Winter may have come, but so long its winds carried their family back together, Brienne is daring to think that even getting to the Wall is no longer such an impossible task, not after finding one ice crystal bearing their shape, their names, among all other fragile possibilities and futures surrounding them in endless white.

And somewhere in the distance, three crows shriek as they continue heading North, to carry a message back some other place, hidden right at the heart of the snow and ice, because new choices were made, thus changing even the course of the strongest storm yet to come.


End file.
